


Plausible Deniability

by writerdot



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Car Accident, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdot/pseuds/writerdot
Summary: After an accident, House wakes up in the hospital with no memory of what got him there. Takes place sometime after 7x17.





	1. Chapter 1

He wakes to low beeping and bright light.

Gregory House opens his eyes, wincing against the light that seems far brighter then it should. He brings a hand up to wipe at his dry lips and sees the IV line attached in the vein on the back. He frowns at it, before setting the hand back down on the bed, palm down, and looking around slowly and carefully, in deference to a headache flaring up behind his eyes.

He’s in a hospital room; that much he could glean from the low, rhythmic tone of the heart monitor. He can’t see what the IV connected to his hand is as the bag is too far a way for him to read lying down. He starts to reach up to grab it, because he wants to know, when the door opens.

“House.”

Wilson walks in…or, as House can see, he limps in. House is shocked to see the blue and purple bruises marring Wilson’s face, and the sling that his right hand is cradled in. He looks behind Wilson to see Cuddy standing outside the room, her arms crossed over her chest and a sad, tired look on her face.

“Wilson, what the hell is going on?”

Wilson brings his left hand up and pinches the bridge of his nose and House can’t tell whether it’s because he’s fighting his own headache, or if it’s just his usual way of fighting off House-induced frustration. He decides it’s probably both.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

He looks away as he tries to recall…he remembers wedding cake and a cold bed. He shakes his head and looks back at Wilson.

“The wedding. Why?”

Wilson exhales slowly. “House…that was six days ago.”

House stares at him; waiting for the punch-line, for Wilson to wipe at the bruises on his face and show House the hand with make-up on it, for Wilson to say that everything was going to be okay between them, because they were back to their normal pranking selves. He’d been determined to settle for that years ago, and he’d been happy with it until the mess of Sam and Cuddy had screwed everything up. He doesn’t even want to start in on Dominika…

He realizes that his brain is going on a tangent, and he notices that Wilson is staring at him grimly. “What happened?”

Wilson, he can see, is in obvious pain. He grabs a nearby chair and sits in it carefully. “We were in a car accident.”

House shakes his head…because nothing is registering. He can’t remember anything about a car accident. “When?”

“Last night.”

Wilson is looking at him, as though he expects House to bounce up and say Just kidding. I remember everything! When House just looks at him steadily, waiting for Wilson to continue, Wilson sighs. “Today is March 31, 2011; it’s nine in the morning. Last night, you called me, hysterical, drunk…high. You didn’t know where Dominika was, and you told me that you didn’t know what to do anymore. I told you to…to explain…but you wouldn’t. You told me that you had somewhere you needed to go…. I asked you where you were and when you told me that you were on the bathroom floor, I told you to stay there and talk to me until I could get there…”

Wilson pauses and shakes his head, before continuing. “I was almost there, House, when you told me that you couldn’t wait anymore. You hung up. I got to your apartment in time to see you backing out into the street.”

Wilson takes a deep breath, as though this is the most painful part of his recitation. “I drove up, parked behind your car….you stopped, I didn’t think you were going to, but you stopped. I got out of my car and went to the driver’s side of yours, we argued…I told you that you were going to kill yourself, that you couldn’t drive in the condition you were in….which was stupid, because that just made you more determined to go where ever the hell you thought you needed to go.

Wilson smiles, but there is no humor in it. “So, I compromised. I told you that if you needed to go somewhere, then let me take you there. You, amazingly, agreed. We got to the intersection just past your apartment, the light had turned green….I had just pulled into the intersection when the other car hit us. It ran a red light.”

House looks around him, at the hospital room, then back at Wilson, processing. “My injuries?”

“Dehydration…because of the alcohol and Vicodin you were on, so that IV in your hand is for that. You have some contusions, and we’ll get you an MRI to find out why you’re experiencing the retrograde amnesia. Other than that, you’re fine.”

House nods slowly. “What about you?”

“Bruises, contusions, dislocated right shoulder.” Wilson shrugs the good shoulder. “Sprained right ankle.”

“But you’re okay?”

Wilson cocks his head, and looks at him steadily. “Yeah, House. I’m okay.”

They sit there in silence before House feels his eyelids drooping. Wilson gets the hint and stands up. “I’ll let you get some rest and go schedule the MRI, all right?”

But House doesn’t answer; he’s already drifted back to sleep.

And Wilson lets out an explosive, relieved, breath. He closes his eyes tightly, against the rush of emotions that threatens to overwhelm him, before opening them again, turning slowly and leaving.

Cuddy is still waiting for him outside the room; she doesn’t look as though she moved from the spot he left her in when they both noticed that House was waking up.

“How is he?” she asks softly.

“Just like we thought might happen. Between the accident, the drugs and alcohol, he doesn’t remember a thing. It’s farther back, though…he doesn’t remember anything after the wedding.”

Cuddy shakes her head in frustration. “I haven’t heard from Dominika, yet.”

“You probably won’t.”

“I know. You told him what happened?”

Wilson pauses for a moment, looks in the room where House is sleeping, then back at Cuddy, who is looking at him in concern.

“Yeah. I told him what I told the police about the accident. As for the rest, for right now, I think it's better if he doesn't know.”

“What did he say?”

Wilson shrugs. “What could he say? He interrogated, processed, then fell asleep.”

Cuddy is looking at him as though she’s trying to see through him and Wilson keeps his face blank…but he’s so tired and he’s finding it difficult to keep his thoughts from showing in his expression. He must do something right though, because she relents with a sigh. “Okay. I’ll get an order for an MRI.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

Wilson nods. “Yeah. Tired, sore…but I’m all right.”

Cuddy touches his good arm with a sad smile. "Get some rest." She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. "I know you don't want to go home, but House is not the only one injured here. You need to take care of yourself, too. Go to the couch in your office, if you have to."

He wants to argue, but he doesn't have the energy to do so. She takes his silence as assent, nodding resolutely before turning around. She only takes a step before she’s turning to look at him again. “Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve tried to stay out of it…what I saw happening in the last week, like you asked. But you’ve been there for me and I want to do the same for you. If you need to talk, you know where I am.”

Wilson smiles, because if he doesn’t, he might just burst into tears. “I know. Thank you, Lisa.”

She smiles again and Wilson watches her walk away, and the sound of her heels on the floor is almost comforting as he closes his eyes once more. He thanks god there’s only one person, one story he needs to keep straight, and that’s his own, because he’s not sure he could handle it if he had to make sure House kept his mouth shut…and Cuddy, too, for that matter.

Please, he thinks desperately. This would be a lot easier if he never remembers. No one ever needs to know but me.


	2. Chapter 2

He dreams in disjointed images and loud sounds.

Dammit, House! Get out of the car!

House!

“House!”

His eyes open with a snap and a gasp, and he feels a hand on his arm, guiding him to lie back down on the bed.

“Just a dream.”

He looks to the side to see Cuddy standing there, her hand still on his shoulder. She takes it off as if touching him burns. “Your MRI is in a few minutes, thought I’d get you down there.”

“We don’t have nurses to do that anymore?”

“None that want to deal with you when you’re not patient, let alone when you are.”

This is true. “Is Wilson okay? Why isn’t he here?”

Cuddy looks at him like she’s never seen him before, or ever seen him express concern for another person that wasn’t himself before. But House can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s missing about Wilson, something he’d seen that he just can’t put his finger on.

“…finally got him to sleep, He’s in his office though, but he wouldn’t leave the hospital,” Cuddy’s saying.

Well, that’s good, House thinks. He won’t have to go far to figure out what’s wrong with Wilson. He’ll go harass him when the MRI is done.

“Fine,” House says, “Let’s go do this, then.”

*****

Sleep does him some good…he’s glad he listened to Cuddy when she told him that he should get some. He’s able to get his emotions under control. He knows that when this all blows over, everything will be okay…they just need a few more days…and then it won’t matter what House remembers.

He’s rubbing his eyes wearily as his door bangs open. He jumps and glares at House, who’s standing in the doorway with a triumphant grin.

“Gotcha,” House says cheerfully as he hobbles over and sits down next to Wilson on the couch.

“Yes,” Wilson says dryly. “Thank you for scaring the crap out of me.”

“No problem,” House chirps. “You weren’t there for my MRI.”

Wilson groans and looks at his watch. Sure enough, the MRI was scheduled an hour ago.

“Sorry,” Wilson says, standing up. “Cuddy told me to get some sleep.”

“Cuddy told you to go home and get some sleep.”

“It was only a strong suggestion. She told me to sleep on the couch when she realized I didn’t want to go home.”

“Wilson, that couch couldn’t have been that comfortable with your injuries.”

Wilson frowns and looks at him while blinking a few times. Since when have you cared about when I’m comfortable, he thinks, but decides to keep that thought to himself.

House doesn’t miss the look on Wilson’s face…he just wish he knew when he was thinking.

Wilson sighs. “Look, the sleep helped. I’m fine. We need to worry about you. Anything on the MRI?”

House stares for a second, but lets it go for now. “Localized swelling around the memory centers of the brain. To be expected. When it goes down, I should get my memory back.”

Wilson had expected this, but hopefully it buys them some time, because despite his earlier prayer, he knows that nothing is ever that easy.

“…you can feed me pancakes.”

Wilson looks up at House and blinks. “What?”

House lets out an extremely put upon sigh. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back to your place. You can make pancakes.”

“I’m not sure I can stand at the stove long enough to do that. So unless you want burnt pancakes…or you could do something completely revolutionary and make your own.”

“Yeah,” House says contemplatively. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? Nope. Let’s go out then and you can buy me pancakes.”

Wilson rolls his eyes with a sigh and stands up. Before he can make it to the coat stand to get his coat, though, House is already standing in front of him, holding it out.

“Uh,” Wilson says, looking down at the jacket, then back at House’s face. Which, as usual, doesn’t give anything away that House doesn’t want him to know. “Thanks.”

“Gotta stay off that ankle,” House says. “Speaking of which, why aren’t you on crutches?”

“Because it’s in a brace. I don’t need crutches.”

House is giving him that look…the same look that Cuddy was giving him earlier in the hallway. Clearly, even though neither of them wants to admit it, they certainly rubbed off on each other when they were dating.

But where Cuddy had let it go, House doesn’t. “I think you’re in more pain then you’re letting on.”

“I think you should leave it alone, House, please.”

“Wilson…physically, I can tell that you’re hurting. I know pain when I see it.” House waves a hand at him, “Emotionally, you’re all over the place. What’s going on with you?”

“Why do you care?”

House blinks at him. “What?”

Wilson can’t hold back now, the anger against House he’s been trying to hold in since the balcony incident.

“I’ve let a lot go by, House,” Wilson bites out. “The balcony, the Vicodin….all those damn hookers….then you get married to a woman, who, by the way, is nowhere to be found. In all this, you’ve only thought about you. Not her. Not Cuddy. Not me. You.”

“Wilson-“

And just as soon as it started, the anger is gone, because he knows House. Knows who he is…Wilson has been putting up with House for years…because….

No. Wilson thinks forcefully, stopping that train of thought before it even gets out of the station.

It’s just all too much.

“Wilson,” House says slowly. “I think you’re falling apart.”

He’s pretty sure House is right, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, he takes a deep breath. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Okay,” House says, reluctantly. “I can see I’m getting nowhere. Let’s just go to your place. We can scrounge something up.”

Wilson nods and follows House out of the office.

“Doctor Wilson,” his assistant is suddenly in front of him, and he curses her ability to appear out of thin air with his messages in her hand. Usually, it’s useful. Today, it just annoys him. “There’s an Officer Hanlon on the line for you. Says he has questions about the accident.”

Wilson blows out a breath. “Did he say it was urgent?”

“No. Just that he wanted to talk to you.”

“Take a message. I’m going home for the day.”

If she notices his irritability, she doesn’t let on. “Okay. I figured you would be, so I rescheduled all of your appointments.”

This time, the breath he releases is in relief. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Feel better.”

She walks away and House is nice enough to remark, “You must be really tired if even her perkyness annoys you.”

This makes Wilson smile, for some unfathomable reason. “Shut up.”

They banter all the way down the hallway, and Wilson allows himself to believe, for just one tiny moment, that the last year never happened, that they’re the House and Wilson who were always just a little bit more then friends, the House and Wilson they were before Cuddy, Sam, and the farce that is House’s marriage to Dominica.

He decides to hold onto the feeling of closeness with House for just a little while longer…

Because he knows it can’t last.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the afternoon and evening is an affair that neither one of them remembers having for a long time. House puts together a random meal made from ingredients that he finds in Wilson’s kitchen as Wilson sits at the table and watches House at work, his ankle propped up on another chair. House complains all the while about Wilson’s laziness, making House “slave at a hot stove” and House smiles when he turns his back to stir his concoction as Wilson retorts that it was about damn time he slaved away at something. 

It’s evening now, closing on seven-thirty, and Wilson fell asleep a half an hour ago. House glances at his friend briefly, before looking back at the TV and turning the sound down…not that he thinks it will matter. With the lines on Wilson’s face and the way that he doesn’t even look relaxed as he sleeps, he gets the feeling that Wilson hasn’t gotten any decent sleep in a long while, and now that he has, he won’t be waking up any time soon.

House watches the TV some more, but that feeling he’d gotten in the hospital, that nagging worry that there was something else missing (besides his memory for the last seven days), something about Wilson that is hanging on like a loose thread at the back of his mind.

His gaze moves unerringly back to Wilson’s face.

And that’s when he sees it.

He gets off the chair, winces when his thigh protests and thinks peripherally that he needs a Vicodin, as he moves closer to Wilson.

With all the bruises marring Wilson’s face, he hadn’t looked too closely at them, but now he sees that there is one specific bruise, right below Wilson’s right eye, that doesn’t match the rest of the bruising on Wilson’s face. Considering the accident that took place last night, the rest of bruising is the right color and shading.

But this bruise is turning a sickly yellow color…indicating that it is at least a couple of days old.

House looks at it and tries to do as much of an investigation of the bruise as he can without waking Wilson up, partly because he knows Wilson needs the sleep, but also because of how closed-mouth Wilson’s been regarding his own issues. Waking him up would likely get him nowhere and would just be a waste of time.

He gets up, pulls the Vicodin bottle out of his pocket and pops one, before grabbing the phone and dialing a familiar number.

*****

“I like how Cuddy gives us a few days off, but you still call us in. How does that work?”

House glares at Foreman. “I like how Cuddy gives you guys a few days off because I was in a car accident….how does that work?”

“Could be the fact that none of us have had real vacations since we started working for you and she thought we deserved one?” Chase asks.

“Yeah,” House says. “I’m sure that’s it. You’re all just so traumatized by working for me that you used my amnesia to get a few days off. Nice.”

“Actually,” Masters pipes up. “I volunteered at Princeton General for a few hours.”

The four other occupants in the room stare at her as though she just grew another head, before House turns to Foreman. “Why’d you call her?”

Foreman shrugs. “You told me to get the team together.”

“I meant,” House stresses. “The parts of the team that aren’t naïve idiots, who believe everything they-“House stops, considers. “Wait, actually, you could be helpful after all.”

“With what, House?” Taub snaps.

“Ooh, someone had a date.”

“I didn’t have a…” Taub starts, before realizing that House is just baiting him as usual. “What do you want?”

House plops himself down into the nearest chair and folds his hands on top of his cane. “I need to know what happened to Wilson.”

“Uh…he was with you in a car accident?”

House shakes his head, giving Taub his should-be-patented you’re an idiot glare. “No, not that. I noticed a bruise on Wilson’s face that wasn’t consistent with the crash. Something else happened earlier this week. I need to know what.”

“Wait wait wait,” Chase says, holding a hand up in protest. “You’re telling us that, instead of asking us to help you find a reason for the amnesia, you want us to find out what happened to Wilson in the time period that you can’t remember.”

House waves a hand dismissively. “The reason for the amnesia is the swelling. Boring. Like you said, I don’t remember what happened. You guys do…and you’re stalling. Tell me what you know.”

His team, for a split second, looks at each other, but House doesn’t actually get the feeling that they’re doing it because they’re trying to get a story straight. So, that means…

“You idiots. Please tell me you’re not about to inform me that you don’t know.”

“Well, if we did, we’d be lying,” Masters replies.

House shoots his team a disgusted look. “Seriously?”

“You and Wilson,” Taub says hesitantly. “Haven’t really been around much since you married…”

“Dominika,” Chase supplies helpfully.

“Yeah, her,” Taub continues. “Wilson came in for an hour or two a few days ago…I saw him with his secretary at the nurses desk and noticed the bruise. But before I could even say hi, he saw me, ended his conversation with her, and left.”

House frowned. “And me?”

“We had a case the day after the wedding. You came in to do a differential or two until we solved it. Two days later, the patient was cured and you disappeared,” Foreman supplied, sounding like he’d rather just keep his mouth shut.

House shook his head as he processed. Something still didn’t feel right…discovering the bruise just made him feel like he’d figured out a small detail of a bigger picture. So, if Wilson got the bruise before the accident…“Masters, call the Princeton Police Department. I don’t care how you do it, but see if you can get a police report for the accident. Ask for an Officer Hanlon…pretend to be Wilson’s secretary if you need to.”

“But…”

“Yes yes,” House interrupts. “You’d be lying to the cops. Well, you let a serial killer go free while he was technically under my care. I say you owe me one.”

House looks away from Master’s teary eyed gaze. “The rest of you…find out what you can and let me know what the hell has been going on in my life for the last week.”

House doesn’t wait for an answer as he turns and limps out of the conference room.

The four remaining occupants in the room sit in uneasy silence.

“I don’t…actually have to call and lie to the police, do I?” Masters says quietly.

“No,” Foreman says, looking at the other men. “Leave it for right now. In fact, go home. We’ll figure something out.”

Masters sighs and stands up with a weary smile before slowly shuffling out of the room.

Foreman sits back, letting out a breath. “There’s something very wrong here.”

“You think?” Taub retorts. “I thought Wilson was helping House through Vicodin related stuff, but if Wilson hasn’t told him anything about the last week…”

“There has to be a reason,” Chase cuts in. “There has to be a reason Wilson’s kept his mouth shut. Not just about the accident, but he hasn’t given any explanation to House about anything…something happened that Wilson is trying to keep quiet.”

“And the bruise?”

“Why didn’t you tell us about that earlier, Taub?”

Taub shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant. Like I said, I thought Wilson was helping House through something with the Vicodin and the bruise was some result of that.”

“And what about Dominika?”

Taub shoots Chase a withering look. “He’s got her for other things.”

Foreman snorts. “I suppose the extra bruise could be something to do with Vicodin…Wilson could have been helping House detox.”

“He certainly doesn’t look like he’s been detoxing,” Taub counters.

“He doesn’t remember the last week. He’s probably taking Vicodin now…not realizing he’d detoxed from it,” Chase answers.

“No,” Foreman shakes his head. “No, there’s something else going on. He didn’t detox.”

“We need to find out from the source,” Taub says quietly. “If Wilson’s trying to protect House…he might need some help.”

“You don’t just want to help,” Chase says dryly. “You’re bored.”

Taub shrugs. “That too.”

“I saw Wilson earlier…” Foreman says, speculatively.”…in the hallway talking with Cuddy outside House’s room. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but when Cuddy walked away…you should have seen his face. Like I said, there’s something very wrong here…and Wilson’s going to tear apart from the strain of dealing with this by himself.”

“Wilson’s House’s anchor,” Chase agrees. “Less and less lately, but still. If something happens to Wilson….”

“House goes ballistic,” Taub continues.

Foreman finishes. “…and we’re all screwed…we’ll give Wilson a day. Let things cool down. If we go to him now, he may just panic and clam up.”

Chase and Taub nod, then Taub asks, “And what about when House demands answers and we don’t have them?”

Foreman stares at them. “We stall. And, if that doesn’t work, I know you two know how to lie.”


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a cold wind on his face and his head is killing him.

House opens his eyes, slowly…oh god, more bright light. He winces, sits up and looks around.

There’s an ambulance pulling up about thirty feet in front of him, a police car beside it, lights flashing and illuminating the area in white, red and blue. It hurts House to look at them and he blinks his eyes against the disorientation as three people come rushing toward them…

Them. Wait a minute…

House turns his head quickly to see the police officer helping Wilson stand up, his right ankle lifted off the ground, his right arm cradled against his chest, and his lips moving as the officer apparently asks him a question.

Suddenly, someone forces his head forward and his eyes stare dazedly at some nameless, faceless EMT…the person is talking to him… trying to say something, but all House can hear is the roaring of wind in his ears, and the sudden sound of his heart beating too fast is rolling through him….

And his eyes snap open, his chest lifts up and suddenly he’s looking at the dark gray walls of the guestroom at Wilson’s loft.

He shuts his eyes against the deluge of feeling…tries to capture the memory of what he’d been dreaming, but it’s slipping away like smoke, leaving vaguely unsettling wisps of emotion behind.

He takes deep breaths, trying to control himself and realizes that his head is pounding in the same rhythm as his leg. He throws his arm toward the nightstand, and swears angrily when he realizes that the Vicodin bottle is next to the kitchen sink, where he’d left it after taking one before going to meet his team.

He takes one more deep breath, which doesn’t really do anything to calm his raw nerves, but he has to try anyway, and throws his legs painfully over the side of the bed. He waits for the pain to become just bearable enough to move, before grabbing his cane and limping carefully to the kitchen.

He opens the bottle and swallows a pill dry, before setting the bottle back down. He leans his arms against the counter and hangs his head down…and suddenly the soft snoring coming from the couch is in stereo surround-sound.

House gives the Vicodin a minute to kick in before he shuffles slowly from behind the island in the kitchen and sits in the recliner that he’d inhabited before he’d first seen that bruise.

When he’d come home, it had been close to ten, and Wilson hadn’t appeared to have moved an inch in the time House had been gone. House knew that he’d never get Wilson to his room without injuring them both, so he’d simply tossed a blanket over his slumbering friend and gone to his own room.

He knows he won’t be able to sleep, now. So, he decides to think. Has to think and hope that maybe he will remember what happened to Wilson to put him so close to the edge.

Because he knows something has to be going on…that bruise didn’t get there on its own and since Wilson hadn’t bothered to fill him in on the last week…

And House hadn’t asked.

He hadn’t wanted to admit to himself why, but it can’t help floating through his mind now. Wilson had been there, concerned. He’d filled in all of the major blanks…injuries, how they’d gotten them, and how much time he, House, was missing. The rest hadn’t seemed all that important.

Until he’d seen the bruise on Wilson’s face that hadn’t been explained by the crash and he’d suddenly needed to know….needed an explanation.

Because, Wilson was still here, had always been with him. He couldn’t say that about many, or hell, anyone else in his life. Stacy for one…Cuddy for another.

His relationship with Cuddy had failed…he’d messed up and she’d left because she hadn’t been able to accept who he was…who he is. He’d put everything into his relationship with Cuddy because he’d needed to know if it was possible to sustain a relationship with someone other than Wilson…and he had loved her, but he wasn’t sure that he was in love with her. Regardless, he’d needed her and she’d still left. It hadn’t worked.

Looking at Wilson now, House realizes that maybe, in his quest to see if he could sustain a relationship with someone that wasn’t Wilson, he’d subconsciously pushed Wilson away to see if he would always come back. 

But Wilson always kept coming back. Just like after Amber…just like after House jumped off that balcony, when he’d seen Wilson walk away and he’d been sure that was it. That was the end…Wilson was going to leave, too.

But he’d been surprised when Wilson had called him the next day (okay, really early, but House had supposed he could forgive that this one time) and asked if he should being breakfast over.

And that had been that.

And now, again, he knows that something is wrong. Something that could threaten their friendship, and while House rationally knows that Wilson will probably never just give up on him (he hasn’t yet), the fact that he can’t remember what caused that bruise, combined with what little his team had told him, multiplied with Wilson wound tighter then House has ever seen equals out to….well, something that can’t be good for either of them.

This is Wilson…he can’t lose Wilson, the man who has always been just a little more then a friend. Their relationship has been sorely neglected by both of them, by Wilson when he’d tried to date the soul-sucking-harpy a second time and when House had convinced himself that he’d needed to love Cuddy to be saved.

House becomes aware, suddenly, that the rhythm of Wilson’s breathing is changing and House watches as he slowly opens his eyes. Wilson sits up, blinking owlishly at House. “House…what time is it?”

“Just after three, “ House whispers, though he isn’t quite sure why he’s bothering to do so.

“Oh,” Wilson replies in an equally low voice. “Why’re you out here?”

“Woke up. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“Ah, well, that explains the sound of your thoughts broadcasting all the way over here.” Wilson grins sleepily. “Woke me up.”

“Or-” House counters, “-you’re an old man at 42, and you fell asleep at seven o’clock in the evening.”

“Or that,” Wilson lays back down on the couch, covers himself back up with the blanket and folds his good arm behind his head, resting on it. “What’re you thinking about?”

House doesn’t answer right away, just looks at his friend. He realizes that he hasn’t seen Wilson this relaxed in so long. Looking back on the evening, House becomes cognizant of the slow release of tension on the way home from the hospital, and that tension had continued to vent through dinner until Wilson was almost unrecognizable…until he almost looked like the Wilson of old.

So instead of giving into his first instinct, the need to interrogate and fish and demand the answers he wants, he decides to give Wilson what he seems to have been lacking…and House realizes that he needs it for himself, too: a little peace.

“House?” Wilson asks, and House realizes that he’s taken an inordinate amount of time to respond.

“I was just wondering why you sound like an angry buffalo when you’re sleeping.”

Wilson snorts with laughter. “I do not!”

It goes along like that for a while and House just lets himself sit back and enjoy it, for now.

Because the search for information begins again tomorrow.

*****  
“All right, monkeys. What you got for me?” House limps in at eleven the next morning, munching a doughnut.

“How’d you know we’d even be here? Cuddy gave us until tomorrow off.” Masters asks.

“And we have a patient,” Chase answers. “Foreman went down to the E.R. to get the case file.”

“Actually,” House begins gleefully, but he’s interrupted by an irate Foreman storming into the conference room.

“There’s no case,” Foreman glares at House. “They had no idea what I was talking about.”

“There’s that question answered,” Taub mutters, shooting House a glare of his own.

“After all this time, you people don’t know me at all,” He waves his cane at Master’s. “I would excuse you from knowing better….but you’re supposed to be a genius…so, no such luck for you. Again, I ask. What do you have?”

House, luckily, misses the panicked look that Masters shoots the rest of the team, but only because he’s busy wiping jelly from his doughnut that had dripped onto his shirt. He finally just gives up and lifts his head to glare impatiently at them.

“It’s barely been twelve hours,” Foreman points out. “The detective wasn’t there last night, and there was hardly anyone else for us to talk to at nine o’ clock at night. Why can't you just call them yourself?”

"I need to pay you idiots to do something, don't I?" And he thinks that he may need to have a discussion with someone he'd been trying to avoid talking to.

House turns to leave when Masters calls out. “Doctor House, why can’t you just ask Doctor Wilson what's going on?”

House can practically hear the collective groans from the other three fellows in the room, even though he’s sure they managed to stay quiet. “None of your business,” he snaps, all humor at messing with his team gone in an instant. “Do what I told you.”

And he’s gone.

They’re all silent again, as though they’re afraid that House will jump through the glass and attack them if they make any sound.

“Masters, go find something to do,” Foreman says, suddenly.

“What?” Masters’ gaze snaps between all three of them, as though she’s expecting someone to stand up for her. “Why?”

“I told you that we’d figure something out about House’s demand to get a hold of that police officer and we are,” Foreman explains. “But now you have to choose. Be involved in whatever is going on and probably risk any good standing you have, or leave now with the ability to claim that you know nothing.”

“There’s a lot more going on here, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Chase answers, before Foreman can summon up a scathing retort. “We think so. Make a decision. Stay, or go.”

Masters looks between them, again, wearily before sighing. “I could go volunteer in the clinic for a few hours. House won’t think to look for me there.”

“Do that,” Foreman says. “We’ll page you when it’s safe.”

Masters nods and turns to leave.

“We’re gonna have to talk to Wilson today,” Taub says.

“I assume that if House’s here, Wilson probably is, too,” Chase replies. “I’ll talk to his secretary and get a look at his schedule. See if we can’t catch him at a slow time.”

“Good. Let us know when.”

Plan made, they realize they’re at a loss. “Uh…” Taub says. “Now what?”

“Well,” Chase drawls. “Masters has a point about the clinic. House does avoid it all costs.”

“Damn,” Foreman says. “Clinic, it is.”

*****

He’d been trying to avoid doing this, because he's not sure that he wants to face her after some of the things he'd managed to admit to himself last night. And while screwing with his team had been mildly enjoyable, this trip to the hospital had been a complete waste of time. His team had nothing and he was just frustrated. Now, he doesn't think he has a choice. She could have some answers.

So, he finds himself gravitating toward her office, where she’s at her desk. He watches as she hangs up the phone and puts her forehead on her hands as though she feels a painful headache coming on.

House slowly reaches out, opens the door and her head pops up. There’s an odd expression on her face, but when she sees that it’s him at her door, it’s gone before House can identify it.

“What, House?”

House leans against his cane and stares at a point just above her head.

“I need to talk to you.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I figured you would, eventually,” Cuddy answers. House wonders if he’s imagining the tone of her voice that signals to him that she’d been dreading it. She’s motioning to one of the chairs in front of her desk, though, so he sits down gingerly and rests his chin on his cane.

“What’s up?” She asks.

“What happened to Wilson?”

The look on Cuddy’s face, at any other point in time, would have sent House into gleeful hysterics as he went off to steal someone’s camera. Right now, it just makes him realize that while she’d figured that he was going to turn up in her office eventually, whatever she had been expecting, that question wasn’t it.

“What?”

Cuddy shakes her head. “I thought you were here to ask me about your…Dominika.”

“Do you know where she is?

“No, but I figured you would try to figure out what happened to her, first.”

“She probably saw something she didn’t want to see in the last week, and bolted,” House says dismissively. “The women in my life tend to do that, you know.”

Cuddy, to her credit, doesn’t reply verbally. The only sign that the comment bothered her is a barely there clenching in her jaw and House finds that he doesn’t really see the fun in baiting her. He remembers that getting a rise out of her wasn’t what he came here for and he circles back to the topic that did, which isn’t his errant wife. He figures he’ll check his credit cards, at some point, to see if she ran off with his money after he refused to sleep with her on their wedding night.

Wait. Point. Ah, yes. “Wilson, and that bruise on his face. Where did it come from?”

Cuddy looks at him, and realizes that Wilson still hasn’t told him what went on before the accident and it’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him the truth…to hurt him, and tell him exactly what he did.

But she can’t, it’s not her place. It’s Wilson’s. “Why don’t you ask him?”

House hadn’t missed the array of emotions drifting over Cuddy’s face, but right now, he’s at a loss to identify them. 

“Because he’s on the edge of a complete and total breakdown,” House answers succinctly. “And I’m not going to be the one to push him over.”

“Anyone else and it wouldn’t matter.”

House gets the distinct impression that she hadn’t meant to say that. He’s proven right when she sighs and leans back in her chair. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” House answers, but that’s all he says on the subject. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Cuddy takes a deep breath. “Four days ago, Wilson came to my office…”

And it’s there again. She wants to do it, wants to tell him the truth.

House leans forward impatiently. “And?”

“And he told me that he walked into a door.”

House stops all movement, his face is completely blank. “”He walked into a door,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“You’re lying. That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“Believe what you want, House. That’s what he told me.”

Well. That, at least, is sort of true.

Without another word, House gets up and limps angrily out of her office, slamming the door behind him.

Cuddy leans her head against the back of her chair for a minute, wondering if she did the right thing.

Because Wilson had come to her office four days ago.

“What happened to your face?”

“Walked into a door,” Wilson says sarcastically.

“Wilson.”

Wilson sighs tiredly and brings his hand up to wipe across his forehead, in a gesture she’s seen a hundred times before…and she knows that whatever happened is House’s fault.

“Did House hit you?”

“It was an accident.”

She’s sure there’s disbelief and bewilderment written all over her face. “Wilson, what the hell is going on?”

“Dominica called me last night...House was completely out of control, either yelling and belligerent, or nearly comatose. She didn't know what to do. I went over there to see her huddled in the kitchen. When I asked where House was, she pointed to the bedroom. Cuddy, she was scared to death.. She certainly didn’t know what she was getting into.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Cuddy agrees wearily. “And the bruise?”

Wilson shrugs. “I did something he didn’t like. Cuddy…I need to take a few days off to take care of something.”

“Preparing to be pummeled by House?”

Wilson smiles bitterly. “If he finds out what I’m actually doing, then he might do just that.”

Cuddy leans forward, resting her elbows on her desk. “Wilson, do you need help?”

Wilson shakes his head. “It’s probably best if you don’t get involved. If I need you, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Cuddy searches his face. “Okay.”

“Thank you. I’m going to arrange things with my assistant and head out.”

That was the last that she’d heard from him until he’d called her from inside an ambulance, with the revelation that he and House had been in an accident and he needed her to meet them at PPTH’s emergency room.

She’d managed to make herself believe, in the two days before that call, that everything was fine, that Wilson was handling it on his own, because he hadn’t come to her and asked her for her help. She’d deluded herself into thinking he would even do so, because she knew then and knows now, how good Wilson is at hiding what he doesn’t want other people to know. She knows how easy it is to miss Wilson, especially if he wants to be overlooked. She should have pushed the issue when he came to her office, and she hadn’t…because she hadn’t wanted to watch House self destruct.

But by pushing the job of babysitting House onto Wilson, she may have pushed Wilson close to self-destructing himself…albeit, in a slightly different manner. Wilson could push himself into a hole in the ground to take care of someone else, and not even ask for help getting out. The fact that it’s House…Wilson would do anything for House, she’d certainly seen that.

Cuddy heaves a big sigh and sinks her forehead into the palm of her hands, and suddenly, the conversation with Officer Christopher Hanlon floats back into the forefront of her thoughts, without her consent. House, with his impeccable sense of timing, had come in just as she’d hung up with Hanlon and she’d barely been able to think about the implications of the officer’s questions…she doesn’t particularly want to, now. She has to, however, because it could very well be that Wilson had managed to show his dedication to House in a way that could destroy both of them.

She decides, right then and there, that she needs to do something; she needs to get to Wilson and find out what’s going on, because she, unlike House 99% of the time, knows how to employ some tact. Hopefully, she can get everything out of him, without causing him too much pain.

Decision made, she pulls up the email containing Wilson’s schedule that he, being the conscientious man that he is, has been sending her for years, in case there’s a House-induced complication and he needs her to help rearrange his schedule to compensate. It’s something they began doing when Wilson had taken the head-oncologist position and it had long since become habit, even though it had become a bit superfluous when she and House had started dating.

She sees that he’s got an appointment in five minutes…and she knows that he tends to schedule his appointments every hour, to give himself plenty of time with his patients. After that, he’s free for the rest of the evening before his shift ends at five. Perfect. She knows that if she calls him now and demands that he cancel all of his appointments to come and see her, it would just cause the very drama that she is doing her best to avoid…and if he does need her help, then they won’t need to cancel any of his appointments for the rest of the evening.

She picks up the phone and dials the extension for Wilson’s assistant.

“Doctor James Wilson’s office. This is Sandy, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Sandy, it’s Doctor Cuddy.” Cuddy looks at the time, sees that Wilson is likely in with his patient, now. “Listen, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

Cuddy looks at the time, again. “Right after Wilson’s current appointment, I need you to tell him that I want to meet with him. But, not before this appointment ends.” She doesn’t want to give Wilson any chance to find a way to get out of meeting with her.

“Okay,” Sandy says, sounding confused. “So, you just want me to send him down when he’s done with his current patient?”

She supposes she could have just said that. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Sandy answers. Cuddy thanks her and hangs up the phone just in time for her assistant to knock on the door and poke his head in.

“Doctor Cuddy, Nurse Previn called from the clinic. She wants to know if there’s something going on with House’s team.”

Cuddy frowns. “What does she mean? I gave them until tomorrow off.”

“She got busy before I could patch her through to you, but she did say you told her that when you informed her that she’d need to find replacements for their hours. She also mentioned that three of the four of them are doing clinic duty, but not their scheduled shifts…they’re there at the same time within a few minutes of each other.”

“Why just three of them?”

“I don’t know…she seemed confused about that, as well.”

There’s something going on. Cuddy’s sure of it. She resists the urge to rub at her temples and says, “Page all four of them to my office, please.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Not even ten minutes later, all four of House’s fellows are standing in front of her desk, shooting each other interesting looks.

“Well,” Cuddy says, clasping her hands on top of her desk and leaning forward. “Who wants to start?”

*****

People, wisely, are giving him a wide berth as he limps through back to his office. Which is good, since he’s an ass to them on a good day.

And today is not a good day.

He intends to go into his office, grab his things and leave, but when he gets closer to his desk, he sees the pink slip of paper on top of it, signaling he’s got a message.

He supposes someone dropped it off on his desk from reception because they couldn’t get a hold of one of his minions. House hopes that means that they’re off doing what he told them to do.

However, when he retrieves the slip of paper from the top of a stack of files he’ll probably never read and sees what’s written on it, he concedes that, perhaps, he’d given Masters an unnecessary task, after all.

Time to find out.

A few minutes later, House has the phone to his ear and a triumphant smile on his face as he hears:

“Doctor House? This is Officer Christopher Hanlon. Thank you for calling me back.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Um, start what,” Masters asks nervously.

“Your explanation of why there were three of you volunteering in the clinic at the same time, when I gave you all vacation days….and where the fourth one was.”

“We were…” Taub begins.

“Worried about Wilson,” Foreman finishes.

Cuddy looks between the four of them. “You were what, now?”

Chase, Foreman and Taub glance between each other while Masters chews nervously on her lower lip. “We should just tell her,” Chase says.

“Someone tell me what is going on,” she glares at them, “Now.”

“Fine,” Foreman says. “But first, Masters…isn’t involved in this. She went down to the clinic so that she could stay out of …whatever this even is.”

Cuddy turns a slightly softer glare onto the med. student. “Is that true?”

“Yes, Doctor Cuddy,” Master’s says softly.

“Fine. Go back to the clinic. That little vacation time has been revoked for all of you and I know we could use some help in there.”

Masters nods, and then turns swiftly on her heel and leaves.

Cuddy returns to glaring at them. “So you sent her down to the clinic so that she was not involved in…worrying about Wilson?”

“Sort-of,” Taub answers.

“Okay,” Cuddy answers slowly. “And which one didn’t come down when the others did?”

“That would be me,” Chase raises a hand. “Taub and Foreman went down to pass the time until I could figure out when we could talk to Doctor Wilson.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Taub risks another glance at his partners-in-crime. “We were worried about him?”

Cuddy just stares for a second. “Uh huh. You said that already. You three have a seat. Explain.”

*****

“No problem,” House answers. “Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you try to contact me before today?”

“When I first interviewed Doctor Wilson while he was being treated after the accident, he informed me that you had no memory of the crash, citing the fact that your blood alcohol was nearly two times the legal limit and the trauma of the crash as possible reasons.”

House frowns. He hadn’t known the exact figure of his blood alcohol; he hadn’t bothered to look it up. Considering that Wilson had probably found that out in the ambulance, he’d probably figured that amnesia was a forgone conclusion.

Or, House thinks, a slow realization coming over him. Wishful thinking? Why in the world would Wilson tell the police something that he wasn’t absolutely sure about?

“Doctor House?”

House shakes his head, realizing that Hanlon sounds like he’s been trying to get his attention for awhile. “Uh, sorry. Can you repeat the question?”

“I asked you how your memory was doing. I’m wondering if you can help me.”

This is it, House thinks. This is where he’s going to get his answers, the final puzzle piece to the bigger picture. So, to get what he needs, he side-steps the question. “It’s recovering. What can I help you with?”

*****  
Cuddy levels a glare at the three men sitting across from her. “While I appreciate the lengths the three of you are willing to go to protect yourselves…and don’t deny it, that’s exactly what you were doing, you don’t have to worry about it. I’m going to take care of it.”

They look between each other again. “Seriously? We’re off the hook?” Taub asks skeptically.

“For this little quest from House, yes,” Cuddy looks at the clock and sees that Wilson should be in her office in five minutes. “But I wasn’t kidding about the clinic hours. Get in there. You guys can all serve four hours.”

As they get up to file out, Taub turns to her.

“So do you know what’s going-”

“Out,” Cuddy interrupts, her finger pointing to the door.

Chase and Foreman glare at Taub, but otherwise seem to think they’ve gotten off easy, because they all exit her office without another word.

She rubs her temples for a second before beginning to prepare for her meeting (the word ‘intervention’ flits across her brain) with Wilson. She closes the blinds on every window in her office, so not a single person can see inside. Then she sits down at her desk, folds her fingers together and waits, her stomach tied in knots.

A few minutes later, Wilson taps his knuckles gently on her door. She calls ‘come in’ and he does so with a nervous gait, and every inch of his body is tension personified.

“Hey. You wanted to see me?”

She gets up from her desk, walks around and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” he asks, but can’t seem to decide what to do with his hands and his voice is slightly hoarse. This is not the man who confronted her in her office after she’d broken up with House. It shouldn’t seem that long ago, but it does and it’s like Wilson’s a completely different person.

“Your mental state for one,” she says softly. “Come sit down.”

They both seat themselves on the couch, and Wilson continues to look like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“And another?” he asks.

She searches his face, needs to know if this is the right course of action.

The emotions she sees there tell her that, while it won’t be pleasurable for either of them, yes, she has to do this.

“I got an interesting call from Officer Christopher Hanlon earlier today.”

*****  
“Hey! You!”

House would laugh at the startled look on Wilson’s assistant’s face, but he hasn’t got time.

“Yeah. You. Whatever-the-hell-your-name-is. Where’s Wilson?”

“Uh…” the girl stammers. “He went down to meet with Doctor Cuddy about ten minutes ago.”

Good, House thinks as he limps away as fast as he can, without another word. Cuddy should hear this, too.

*****  
If he looked bad before this pronouncement, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now. Cuddy is sure that she sees moisture on Wilson’s top lip and he’s fidgeting like she’s never seen before. He doesn’t answer, so she soldiers on.

“He had some questions about the accident…about your injuries.”

Wilson opens his mouth, and he looks like a fish out of water as he tries to figure out what to say to that. He finally settles on: “And…what did you-“

Before he can finish what he’d been trying to say, however, Cuddy’s office door opens and closes with a bang and House damn near runs in.

“Whatever he’s telling you, he’s lying.”

“House, what in the hell…”

But then she looks at Wilson’s face. He’s looking at House and she can see that the expression on his face is battling between panicked and resigned.

“House, please. Don’t. Not yet,” he pleads.

House shakes his head. “Wilson, you can’t actually believe that this was going to work, that you could really keep me from finding out.”

“House-” Wilson says, a little more forcefully.

But House keeps trying. “-Wilson-“

“Stop!”

Cuddy jumps, and even House seems startled by Wilson’s sudden burst of temper. And when Cuddy moves her gaze back to Wilson, she sees that he, himself, seems just as surprised. Wilson brings a hand up and rubs at his eyes so hard that Cuddy is irrationally sure that he’s going to rub them right out of his head.

“If I’m going to do this-” he says hesitantly. “-if I’m going to tell you everything, then you’re going to let me do it my way. From the beginning and with no interruptions.” Wilson says, quietly but firmly.

House and Cuddy look at each other and Cuddy can see the challenge in that for House….the restraint it’s going to take for him to sit back and let someone else run the show.

House, she knows, sees the futility in doing otherwise, though, because then he won’t get what he wants.

House nods, turning his gaze toward Wilson, who avoids House’s eyes and takes a deep breath.

“You guys better make yourselves comfortable," Wilson says, and Cuddy can see that resignation has won the battle. For now. "This is a long story.”


	7. Chapter 7

March 27, 2011-5 days earlier

When Wilson gets to House’s door, he feels that it’s a bit anticlimactic. From Dominika’s call, he’d expected banging sounds and loud voices.

He raises a hand, and sets his palm on the door, before reaching down and turning the knob. If what Dominika said was true, then knocking would do more harm that anyone needed right now.

“Hello,” he says quietly.

“In here,” a foreign voice responds softly, from the kitchen. Wilson moves as swiftly as he can, taking in the knocked over lamp, askew couch cushions, and various pieces of paper and other knickknacks strewn about the place like a hurricane went through. Hurricane House, he thinks bitterly. It looks like Dominika may not have been exaggerating, after all.

He strides into the kitchen, where Dominika (he just can’t think of this woman as House’s wife) is standing against the counter, her arms wrapped around herself, and tear tracks on her face.

“Where is he?”

“The bedroom,” she answers. Wilson takes a quick visual examination, and she doesn’t look like she’s been physically hurt. 

“Are you all right?”

“I…I do not know, Doctor Wilson.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash from the bedroom. Wilson winces as Dominika jumps.

“Listen,” Wilson says urgently. “Grab whatever you may need for the night. I want you to go sit outside. My car is parked out there. I will meet you out there as soon as I can, all right?”

She nods, and moves quickly. A second later to door closes with small click.

Wilson braces himself and walks toward the bedroom door, where it’s slightly ajar. He pushes it open and blinks in shock.

If the living room and kitchen were a mess, it’s nothing compared to how this room looks. The floor is covered with beer and liquor bottles, there are at least two little orange bottles on the nightstand, and they’re empty from what Wilson can see. The bed is completely devoid of linen or blankets.

What it is not missing, however, is House, who is sprawled spread eagle on his stomach. One of his arms is tossed over the side of the bed, a broken bottle, the likely source crashing noise from earlier, is lying just beneath House’s open fist.

“House.”

House turns his bleary gaze upon him, and Wilson can see his eyes are red and bloodshot. House grins drunkenly. “Wilson! Welcome to my party,” he says, holding an arm up and motioning to the destroyed room.

“House, I’d ask how much you’ve had to drink, but I don’t think I have to. How much Vicodin did you take?”

“Enough.”

“Enough so you’ll overdose?”

House seems to think about it, before shaking his head, and flopping over onto his back. “Don’t think so…am I still alive?”

“For now,” Wilson mutters and steps over the mess.

“Oooh, Wilson. Where’s my wife…have you met my wife?”

“We’ve been introduced,” Wilson answers. As he gets closer to the bed, he can see a small puddle of vomit on the mattress, next to House’s head.

“Jesus, House,” Wilson breathes. He knows he needs to get House out of here at least, so he can try to disinfect the place. He takes a quick look at his drunken friend and sees that House is laying on his back, playing air guitar and humming to himself. Wilson can’t find it in himself to be amused. Satisfied that House seems to be fine for just a second, Wilson goes out to the living room again and checks the couch. It’s littered with trash from various snack foods, and assorted newspapers, but otherwise clean. Wilson throws the papers and trash into a plastic bag he’d grabbed from the kitchen, fixes the couch cushions so they’re back in place, and moves back into the bedroom, where House has drifted off to sleep.

“House,” Wilson says. “Come on, wake up. We need to get you to the couch so I can clean the mattress.”

“Hey, Wilson,” House mutters as Wilson takes his arm to lift him up. “Know what?”

“What,” Wilson grunts. House is practically dead weight and no help.

“I solved my case today.”

“That’s good,” Wilson answers distractedly. “House, come on. Help me out here.”

House shakes his head, angry now. Wilson had forgotten how quickly House’s mood can swing when he’s this drunk and Wilson exhales an exasperated breath, putting his hands on his hips, as House says, “You don’t care that I’m a good doctor again.”

Oh, House. “You’ve always been a good doctor.”

“Nope,” House says. “But I am now…thanks to…thanks to…Wilson, where’s my wife?”

“She’s not here.”

House sits up, faster then Wilson would have thought possible in his current condition and shoots a murderous glare at Wilson. “What’d you do with her?”

“You scared the crap out of her. I sent her to wait for me outside.”

“You had no right...” House swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, but immediately wobbles precariously. Wilson moves toward him, his arms outstretched.

But House pushes him away angrily. “Get away from me. I don’t want your help. I didn’t ask for it.”

“Dammit House, just let me…”

And as Wilson moves toward him again, he reels back suddenly as he feels a horrible, blossoming pain below his right eye.

He looks at House, shocked, to find House looking at his own raised fist like he’s never seen it before. House looks at him and it looks at though his mood has swung to morose. 

“Wilson,” House begins.

But Wilson shakes his head, his eye hurts and his head hurts….but mostly he finds that he hurts for House. But he knows that if he doesn’t get the hell out of here, he will do something that might feel good now, but he’d regret later.

“I’ll be back,” he says instead.

His last thought as he walks out to his car is: I just hope you’re alive when I do.

Dominika is sitting on the curb in front of his car, having known it must have been his as it’s the only one parked out there. She obviously hears his approach, because she turns her head, sees him and stands up. “Doctor Wilson, what happened to your—“she touches the spot below her own eye.

“Nothing, Dominika. Do you have what you need? I’m going to take you to a hotel. You’re not staying here.”

She looks extremely relieved as she nods. He opens the passenger door and waits for her to get in, before closing it and going to the driver’s side.

Ten minutes later, they're at a little hotel, which looks nice and clean as Wilson walks her in and pays for a room.

Taking out his wallet, he pulls a business card from it, flips it over and writes his cell phone number.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? But if you need anything, just call me.”

She nods and turns to head to her room. Wilson is about to leave when she calls him. He turns to look at her and waits.

“Will…will House be okay?”

Wilson finds it in himself to smile reassuringly. “Sure. Go get some sleep.”

She nods again and smiles back, before turning in the direction of her room.

Wilson heads out to his car, gets in and starts it, but doesn’t go anywhere just yet. The glow from the clock on the dash is almost comforting, until he looks at it and sees that it reads 11:43 p.m, because it feels like it should be much much later in the night.

With a deep breath he drives back to House’s apartment.

And when he walks back into the bedroom, ten minutes later, he’s sure House is trying to kill him...because he’s not on the bed where Wilson left him.

“House!”

Wilson runs out of the room, screaming House’s name…and sees the bathroom light on. He storms in and nearly sobs with relief to see House gasping and puking into the toilet.

House looks at him, all bloodshot eyes and morose demeanor. “Wilson…”

But he doesn’t say anything else; instead he just leans his head against the tub and promptly passes out.

Just to be sure, Wilson checks his pulse and is relieved when he finds it normal. Ducking his head and blinking his eyes, he suddenly becomes very aware that his face hurts like hell.

He squeezes House’s shoulder briefly, before striding to the kitchen. Ignoring the mess, he opens the freezer door, sighs in relief at the ice he sees and makes himself an ice-pack before moving back to the bathroom.

He thinks about trying to get House to the couch, as he’d wanted earlier, but doesn’t. Instead, he sets his ice-pack down on the sink and makes sure that House's airway is clear from excess vomit. He then arranges him in the recovery position to prevent hypoxia, just in case he throws up again while he's unconscious.

With one last check to make sure that House's breathing isn't impaired, and that the position is stable, Wilson just stops and looks at him for a second, before grabbing the ice-pack with a sigh and practically collapsing against the nearest wall, any energy in him having been exhausted as though he’d never slept in all his life.

With his gaze back on his friend, Wilson props his elbows on his knees, brings the ice-pack to the spot just below his eye, rests his head against the wall and lets his eyes drift shut in some hope that maybe he can have a little peace before tomorrow comes.


	8. Chapter 8

March 28, 2011

Wilson wakes the next morning feeling as though he was run over by a truck. At this point, he almost wishes he had been.

He moves with a groan, his neck sore from being slumped over all night and takes another five minutes to manage to get his tired, aching body off the bathroom floor. When he does, he moves toward House and realizes that his position hasn't changed at all in the night. Wilson checks his pulse and pupil dilation, and sighs in relief when he realizes that House is still sleeping, but will have one hell of a hang-over. 

Wilson turns and braces himself against the sink, his head hanging wearily down, before lifting it slowly and taking a look at himself in the mirror.

He’s looked worse, a couple of incidents in medical school come to mind…but it’s not as if he’s in his twenties, anymore. He’s got black and purple circles under his eyes, and the bags under his right eye meet the bruise from House’s punch. He sighs and pokes at it, gently. He knows that he can’t really do anything about it and he decides to add 'think about the best way to explain to nosy colleagues' to his list of things to do.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck before heading back into the kitchen. The clock on the microwave reads 6:32 am and, God, he needs some caffeine. He sorts through the mess on the counter and puts a pot of coffee on, and while it brews, he attempts to clean up the kitchen as best he can.

Ten minutes later, the kitchen has some tiny semblance of order, and he feels like he could just dunk his head into his mug as he sips frantically at the coffee, already feeling just a little bit more human.

He sets his empty mug down and thinks about his next move. He needs to contact Dominika, see what she wants to do, but first, it occurs to him that there’s one phone call that he could make…one that would piss House off even further…but Wilson knows he’s already crossed into the territory.

Why not go all the way? He asks himself, and the voice in his head sounds vaguely like House.

So Wilson pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, and opens it. Digging through old receipts and other business and credit cards, he finds what’s looking for, pulls out his cell-phone and dials the number.

When a voice picks up, Wilson takes a deep breath. “Doctor Nolan, I apologize for calling you so early, do you have a minute?”

Present

“He wouldn’t tell me anything, of course. Doctor-Patient confidentiality,” Wilson says softly. He looks at House, who is staring at him, face completely blank. Wilson can’t stand that look, wants something out of him. Some reaction. But he’s also absurdly grateful, because House is keeping his mouth shut and showing no expression and Wilson has the courage to keep going. “But I wasn’t sure who else to go to. Our conversation was short, to the point.

“I was hanging up the phone, when you came shuffling out of the bathroom…”

March 28, 2011

“Who was that?” House asks irritably.

“No one. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a plane, truck and a herd of wild animals. I can’t believe you left me on the bathroom floor.”

“Sorry,” Wilson says, putting a mug of coffee down in front of House, who has moved so he’s leaning against the counter. House takes it without a word and gulps.

“I’ve some errands to run, then I’m heading to the hospital. You’ll be okay, here?”

House sends him a glare. “I’m not a child. Go do what you need to do.”

Thirty minutes later, he’s heading to the motel that he’d taken Dominika to last night, reflecting on the fact that House didn’t even bother to ask about the bruise on his face or about Dominika’s whereabouts.

He knocks on her door and she opens it, looking tired and worn. “Hello, Doctor Wilson,” She greets, and hold the door open so he can come in. He does, and sits at the desk in the corner.

“Dominika, you need to decide what you want to do.”

She frowns and sits in the end of the bed. “I was stupid.”

Wilson hopes she’s not blaming herself for House’s idiocy. “Last night was not your fault.”

She shakes her head. “I wanted to come to this country…to make a new life for myself. I met Doctor House in a bar…we had a talk…came to the arrangement. I was stupid to think that getting a green card would be worth marrying a man I did not even know.”

Wilson isn’t sure how to respond to that, because part of him agrees. And the other part of him knows how hard House is to deal with…and Wilson’s been doing it for almost twenty years.

“What do you want to do?” he asks again.

He can see that she’s thinking hard. “I want to live here, in the United States.”

“There are better and legal ways to do that.”

“Doctor House said that the marriage was easier.”

Of course he did, Wilson thinks. “Look, I can get you into contact with an immigration lawyer, get you some help. I don’t know anything about the process, but we can find you someone who actually does.”

She considers this and nods. “Okay. What about the marriage to House?”

Divorce is something Wilson has some experience with. “It was fraudulent, we can prove that. We can see a lawyer about that, too.”

Dominika wraps her arms around herself and nods again.

His phone rings suddenly and Wilson pulls it out, sees who it is and swears mentally.

“James Wilson.”

“Wilson,” Cuddy’s concerned and slightly irritated voice comes across the line. “Where are you? Your shift started a half an hour ago.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” Cuddy says expectantly.

Wilson glances at Dominika. “Not over the phone. Listen, I should be there in twenty minutes. Can I meet you at your office?”

“Of course. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Wilson says, trying to reassure her. “For the most part. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up with her and returns his attention to Dominika. “I’ve got to go. Order food from room service and they’ll charge it to my card, all right?”

“Yes,” Dominika responds. “Okay. Doctor Wilson, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he answers. “Call me if you need anything.”

And he’s gone again.

*****

He feels as though he hasn’t had a chance to breathe, let alone do anything else as he finds himself knocking on Cuddy’s door. Before he can reflect further on that, though, she’s calling come in and he’s standing in front of her desk.

“What happened to your face?” She demands, already getting up from her seat. He holds up a hand to forestall her, and she slowly sinks back down.

“Walked into a door,” Wilson says, and he finds that he has a hard time keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Wilson.”

Wilson sighs tiredly and brings his hand up to wipe across his forehead. Cuddy seems to take that as some kind of signal, because she leans forward, and motions to one of the chairs across from her desk. Wilson sinks into it absently.

“Did House hit you?”

“It was an accident.”

Wilson would think the look of disbelief on her face was comical if he wasn’t so tired. “Wilson, what the hell is going on?”

“Dominika called me last night...House was completely out of control, either yelling and belligerent, or nearly comatose. She didn't know what to do. I went over there to see her huddled in the kitchen. When I asked where House was, she pointed to the bedroom. Cuddy, she was scared to death. She certainly didn’t know what she was getting into.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Cuddy agrees wearily. “And the bruise?”

Wilson shrugs. “I did something he didn’t like. I need to take a few days off to take care of something.”

“Preparing to be pummeled by House?”

Wilson smiles bitterly. “If he finds out what I’m actually doing, then he might do just that.”

Cuddy rests her elbows on her desk. “Wilson, do you need help?”

Wilson knows that’s a horrible idea. He doesn’t need House to get even more defensive by Wilson bringing his ex-girlfriend home and telling him she’s there to ‘help.’ Before the balcony jump, he’s been begging for her assistance. Now…just…no. “It’s probably best if you don’t get involved. If I need you, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Cuddy searches his face. “Okay.”

“Thank you. I’m going to arrange things with my assistant and head out.”

Cuddy just nods, looking like she’d rather argue.

He’s extremely grateful that she doesn’t.

*****

“What the hell did you do?”

Wilson is barely in the doorway in House’s apartment before House is on him like a rabid dog. He barely has time to think before “Excuse me?” comes unbidden from his mouth.

“I just got a call from Dominika. She said that she ‘couldn’t be married to me anymore’ and that she was sorry. What in the hell did you do?”

Wilson knows it’s going to do him no good to lie and he curses himself for not warning her to stay away from House. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d needed to do so. “She made a mistake. Hell, you made a mistake!”

“You judgemental son-of-a-bitch. I need her!”

“No, you don’t! You didn’t even bother to ask about her when you got up this morning!” Wilson thinks his mouth has disconnected from his brain, because he’s saying things without thinking about it. “It was a stupid bid to get back at Cuddy! I think you’re actually pissed at me because I interfered in Dominika being gone! Not that she actually is!”

He’s breathing hard, his anger deflated as quickly as it had come. Wilson’s looking at House’s face and sees that House is looking close to murderous.

“Get out,” House spits out.

“House, please.”

“Get. Out.”

Wilson looks at him, and tries to find a way, anyway to argue.

But it’s futile and Wilson knows it.

So he nods, slowly turns around and leaves, and the sound of the door slamming reverberates through his head, long after he’s left.

*****

Present

Cuddy can see the tears in Wilson’s eyes are perilously close to falling again.

“After that, you refused to answer my calls, or call me back. I told Dominika not to contact you…then I helped her get into contact with some lawyers. I honestly wasn’t sure that I would never hear from you again…until you called me Wednesday night.”

Wilson looks at House. “It started just as I told you it did. You were drunk, rambling…told me that you had somewhere you needed to go. I didn’t even think you realized that you’d called me. You kept referring to me by name, but it still seemed as though you kept forgetting who you were talking to. I couldn’t make sense of what you were telling me. I thought maybe you were trying to get to Dominika, or Cuddy. I just didn’t know. So, I told you to stay on the line as I drove over to your place. You did hang up when I was almost there, and I did arrive just in time to see you backing out into the street,” Wilson stops and the tears begin to fall. Cuddy reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, and glances at House and almost gasps in shock when she sees that House looks like he might just cry, too.

“That conversation started as you told me it did,” House takes up the story softly, when it becomes apparent that Wilson isn’t going to be able to. “But it didn’t end the way you told me it did, did it, Wilson?”

And here it is. Cuddy is scared, because she has an awful feeling that here is where she’s going to have her earlier suspicions confirmed. A small part of her brain wants House to shut up, so none of them have to face this.

But he does continue, because Wilson and House, at least, have to get it out in the open.

“House,” Wilson sobs.

“You did try to talk me out from the behind the wheel.”

“Yes.”

“But it didn’t work, did it?”

Wilson squeezes his eyes shut and House takes that as his answer.

“You weren’t driving that car, Wilson, when we got into that accident.”

“House, please.”

But House keeps going, because he knows, like Cuddy does, that it has to come out.

“You weren’t driving that car, Wilson,” House says, softly but firmly. “I was.”

Wilson is shaking and exhales an explosive breath…as the air leaves him, Cuddy and House can hear one word:

“Yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

“I yelled at you when I got to your place,” Wilson whispers, taking up his story again.

House remembers his dream, the morning of the accident, the one where he can hear Wilson screaming at him to get out of the damn car!

“But you wouldn’t get out from behind the wheel so I climbed in the passenger seat and you drove off.

“It was late.” Wilson is looking at some point beyond them and Cuddy wonders if he’s reliving it again, instead of just telling what happened. She squeezes his shoulder again, trying to keep him grounded in reality. “Nearing midnight. I remember being grateful there was no one else on the road, because House, being as drunk as he was, was driving erratically." 

He glances at House, briefly, before averting his eyes again. "I kept yelling at you to pull over, let me drive, I’d take you anywhere you wanted to go, I promise…

“And then there was a bright yellow light in front of my face.”

March 30, 2011

It’s so eerily quiet. Wilson realizes this when the noise ends, the almost deafening sounds of metal on metal, the sound of House yelling and his own voice screaming…

It’s all stopped.

Wilson shakes his head, to clear out the cotton wool that seems to have settled there and immediately regrets it when sharp pain shoots through his temple.

He tries to bring his right hand up, to open the mirror above his head, so he can examine himself, when pain shoots through that, too. He raises his left hand and feels up and down his arm and shoulder and notes that his shoulder has been very cleanly dislocated, probably from when he’d braced himself against the console when the car had started spinning.

He takes a deep breath through the pain all over his body, when there’s a low grunt from the seat next to him.

House.

Ignoring the pain for now, he turns toward House and sees him passed out over the steering wheel. 

Wait, the steering wheel…House was driving…

The full weight of what happened hits Wilson more painfully then it had when the car was spinning and his head was hitting the window.

“Oh, God,” Wilson breathes. He’s sure he can hear the sirens already. He examines House as best he can, realizes that House hit his head, too, but when he runs his hands over the rest of his body, he feels no injuries or broken bones. He doesn’t have time to breathe a sigh of relief as he opens his own door and climbs out, holding his right arm close to his body, and moving quickly to the other side.

As he opens the House’s door, he sees the other car about twenty feet away, the driver’s side door is open and he hears a female voice crying and screaming, but he doesn’t focus on that, he can’t.

He unbuckles House’s seat-belt, quickly, and pulls on his arm, to get him out of the car. As House slides toward him, Wilson loses his footing and trips over his own feet, his ankle bending painfully. He grunts in pain, but he’s sure the sirens are getting closer. So he ignores it and continues pulling on House’s unresponsive body, until he’s dragged him out in front of the car.

When he sees the lights a minute later, he becomes hyper aware of the sounds now, the sirens, the screaming girl coming toward him, crying, “I’m sorry, mister, I’m so sorry…”

And Wilson backs away from her, from House and collapses on the ground, on his painful ankle, once again holding his arm close to his chest, all the adrenaline having drained as fast as it had come.

A second or two later, there’s a police officer, helping him up and asking what happened.

“I was driving through the intersection, and…”

Before he realizes what he’s saying, he’s telling the officer what supposedly happened, but he knows he has to do it. Just as the officer is settling Wilson’s good arm around his shoulder, Wilson looks up and sees the paramedics around House…but that’s not the immediate thing Wilson is focusing on.

Because he’s sure that House’s eyes are open and staring at him, but when he blinks, House’s eyes are closed and he can’t be sure if he imagined it.

Wilson takes a deep breath and allows the officer to help him to the ambulance.

Present

“I was so focused on you at the time that the only thing I know about that other driver is that she’s a sixteen-year-old girl…I got her parent’s phone number, to try and find out how she was…see what she knew….I couldn’t get a hold of them. I left messages and they haven’t called me back.”

House is shaking his head in disbelief. “My God, Wilson, do you even realize what you risked?”

Wilson’s eyes shift, but seemingly to another point in Cuddy’s office, because he still won’t look at either of them. “I had to try. She may have hit us…but with your history…if the police knew you were the one driving, drunk and on Vicodin, it could be disastrous. I couldn't let them find out."

At this, Cuddy steals a glance at House, who just looks at Wilson, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “What about the amnesia? Hanlon mentioned that you told him about it before I woke up.”

“Considering how high your B.A.L. was, I’d thought it was a good bet that you wouldn't remember anything. And that was before I knew about that swelling in your brain,” Wilson explains miserably. “But I figured that if I planted the idea early enough, Hanlon would leave you alone for the time being.”

“Except-,” Cuddy cuts in and Wilson looks at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. Cuddy thinks it likely that he probably had. “-that House went after answers himself almost immediately. House is right…I don’t understand how you thought you could stop him from being his tenacious, pain-in-the-ass self, and finding out. Never mind the swelling in his brain isn’t going to last forever.”

“I didn’t intend to keep it forever. I knew the swelling would go down eventually, but I figured if he didn’t remember until the police finished the investigation, that would only help.”

“Help you keep your story,” House says, but instead of the accusation his words implied, Cuddy thinks he just sounds like he’s not sure what to think. “Were you afraid I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut?”

Wilson shakes his head slowly. “It’s not…I felt like I was going crazy, already. I just…didn’t think I could handle everything. I had to keep my story straight and that was it.”

“That didn’t work, though did it…because it seems to me that you were still losing your composure. You could have confided in us, Wilson.”

House seems to agree with her, because Cuddy can see that he’s leaning over impatiently now, closer to Wilson. “Wilson, listen to me. What you did…I don’t understand why you did it, but I just…Wilson?”

Wilson, very suddenly, is breathing hard and fast, tears are running down his face and Cuddy can see that it’s dripping sweat.

Cuddy grabs his face and tilts it up, forcing their eyes to meet. “Are your hands numb or tingling?”

Wilson’s movements are jerky as he tries to calm himself down, but Cuddy can see that he’s having trouble doing it. She watches as he squeezes his left hand and brings it up to fiddle with the strap of the sling holding his right arm, as though it’s too tight. Cuddy grabs the hand and holds it. “It’s a panic attack. You need to breathe. Come on, breathe with me. In…one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out…one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Good. Again. In…”

“House-” Wilson rasps, as he tries to listen to Cuddy’s instructions.

“Right here. Stop talking, idiot, and breathe.”

Cuddy shoots him a glare, but lets it go when Wilson relaxes marginally. Cuddy softens her glare at House and tilts her head. House seems to get it, because he stands up and a second later, they’ve switched places. House’s hands are on Wilson’s shoulders, holding Wilson steady and House is talking to him…nonsensical things, things that Cuddy is sure that Wilson isn’t even understanding, but it’s House saying them and Wilson is relaxing and breathing the steady rhythm that Cuddy started.

She catches House’s face again and points to the door. He nods, and she walks toward it, intending to give them some time alone.

She looks back just as Wilson’s forehead drifts down onto House’s shoulder, and as the door closes behind her, she wonders if either of them notices.

*****  
The second Cuddy is out the door, House rests his cheek against his friend’s head, and continues to just wait until Wilson’s breathing has evened out.

“Wilson,” he says, a minute or two later, but can’t think of what else he wants--needs--to say.

Wilson seems to start, as if he’s just realizing where he is. He lifts his head up, and brings his hands up to wipe frantically at his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and faint, and House takes a close look at his friend and sees how exhausted he is.

He frowns though, when the word registers in his brain. “…what?”

“For leaning on you like that.”

House shakes his head. “Wilson…that’s stupid. Look, if anyone should be apologizing, it should be me.”

“I’ve always thought you didn’t believe much in making apologies.”

House thinks about that. His relationship with Cuddy drifts through his mind. He remembers the apologies he’d made to her for basically being who he is, or the ones he made to get into her pants. But there are also the half-hearted ones he’s given Wilson, the kind that Wilson knows kind of suck, but he accepts them anyway.

“You’re…this is…” Then he stops, realizing what he was about to say, because the events of the last year come back to him…the aborted attempts to hang out, the drugging…putting Wilson through hell the last week and probably longer if he really thinks about it.

But…Wilson’s still here . So, House ignores the doubts in his mind about not saying what he was going to say, looks at Wilson’s tear stained face and finishes his sentence. “…different.”

Wilson opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, House is suddenly saying things he’s only thought about.

“I’m…just….I’m sorry. I don’t think I can tell you how sorry I am, Wilson. I’m sorry for putting you through all of that. I’m sorry for drugging you at Cuddy’s birthday dinner, and for not catching your head before it hit the table. I’m sorry I put that look on your face after I jumped off that balcony. I’m sorry I made you lie to the police…again. I’m sorry for that one time fifteen years ago, that I-mmph.”

Wilson’s hand is covering his mouth, and Wilson is looking at him oddly, shaking his head. “Are you high?”

House plucks Wilson’s hand away from his mouth. “No, I’m not high. But if anyone deserves an apology, it’s you.”

“House,” Wilson smiles a little, which looks slightly at odds with his red splotchy face. “That’s not you. I never asked for an apology. I don’t need one.”

“I don’t get it, I really don’t. You’ve got to need something.”

“Well, actually,” Wilson says a little hesitant.

“What?”

“I just…want you to realize that I will always be here for you. It’s okay to ask me for help. It’s okay to rely on me. I’m not going to...dump you the first chance I get. And besides…it’s not as though I haven’t done some interesting things to you over the years.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember you ever getting piss-ass drunk twice in one week, hitting me, then trying to take your car for a ride, getting into an accident…”

“House,” Wilson cuts in. His face looks drawn again, exhausted. “I can’t explain it…not in any way…” Wilson drifts off. “Can’t I just say that you’re my best friend, and leave it at that?”

House thinks there is more…is wondering if he wants there to be more to it. But Wilson looks like he’s about half-asleep, and he decides to let it go. For now. So, he nods slowly, and says, “I didn’t give you up, you know.”

Wilson’s gaze snaps back to his. “How…”

“I talked to Hanlon before I came down to Cuddy’s office. He told me that he didn’t think that the placement of your injuries was consistent with you telling him that you were the one driving the car. I realized he was right…that’s when I knew what really happened. So, I told him that while he had a point, I could only speculate on the nature of your injuries. I don’t know why you got hurt the way you did.”

Wilson closes his eyes. “You lied.”

“Yep, but if it makes you feel any better, he told me that Cuddy essentially said the same thing. He sounded frustrated. It was awesome.”

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better. House-”

“Wilson, don’t. You did the same for me. Telling him that would have gotten you trouble…me into trouble. Cuddy would have had to bail us out and then she’d just get bitchy.”

Wilson smiles tiredly, but it fades as he brings a hand up and rubs his forehead.

“You want to grab a nap?” House asks. “Cuddy’s couch is even better then the one in your office.”

“I’ll bet,” Wilson answers. He looks around, seemingly unsure what to do next.

“It’s okay to relax, you know,” House says. “The world isn’t going to fall apart without you.”

“It’s not really the world I’m worried about,” Wilson says, quietly.

House hesitates, just a second, before bringing a hand to Wilson’s shoulder. Wilson looks at it, as though he’s never seen such a thing (and House supposes he hasn’t, from him) and looks back at House. Just as House decides to take the hand away, Wilson’s comes up, his fingers just curling around House’s fingers enough for a quick squeeze.

“Wilson,” House whispers, afraid to break this…this…thing between them. “Are we going to be okay?”

Wilson smiles softly, drops House’s hand with another squeeze and tilts his head. “Aren’t we always?”


	10. Chapter 10

House watches Wilson’s eyes close gently…and he’s asleep before his head hits Cuddy’s fancy pillow. Just like the other night, when he’d been able to really see the lines in Wilson’s face, he sees them there now…a little lighter, but it still looks like he’s carrying the entire world on his shoulders.

Wilson’s story is out, but House can see the toll it’s taken on him, and he doesn’t like what he sees.

*****  
She’s not sure how long she’s been at the reception desk, chatting with various nurses and employees that come her way, when she notices the lights in her office switch off and House come out slowly. Just before the door closes behind him, she sees him look back into the office for a split second, as though checking to make sure the other occupant is still there, and she smiles.

House notices her at the last second and an odd look passes over his face, as though wondering whether she’d seen him look back into the office. She just raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything about it as he limps over to her.

“How is he?”

“Asleep,” House says. “And still breathing. I want another MRI.”

“Okay,” she answers slowly. “You did mention dreams to Wilson, which could be a sign the swelling is receding.” House doesn’t directly respond to that, and she nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Less then an hour later, they’re staring at the results and House is looking at them as though, by sheer will-power, he can change them.

“It’s barely there,” he bites out, as though he’d been afraid of that exact revelation.

“Yeah.”

“But all I’ve got are these random dreams…memories from the entire incident.”

“You know why that is,” Cuddy answers softly. “The swelling certainly didn’t help, but with all that you were on all week…”

House sinks into the chair beside her, still in the hospital gown. “I know, but Wilson said that there was somewhere I needed to go, but that I was incoherent and he couldn’t tell what I was trying to say. He said he thought that I was trying to get to you or Dominika. And I didn’t call you.”

She doesn’t answer, because she knows that was rhetorical, but Cuddy suddenly wishes he had called her, because that just leaves…

House gets up and goes to where they put his clothes in the storage locker in the monitor room. He pulls out his cell-phone and shakes his head in frustration. “No outgoing calls to unfamiliar numbers…”

“You could’ve called her from your landline,” Cuddy responds, figuring it better to help him reason out whatever epiphany he’s headed towards, then not to and having him go raring off by himself.

He doesn’t answer, but looks at his phone again. This time, he seems to get what he wants, and Cuddy remembers the argument that Wilson had told them about, when Dominica had called House. He presses a button and puts the phone to his ear. It rings for a second, before he puts it on speaker phone.

She can just hear the “…motel, my name is Linda, how can I help you?” as she meets House’s gaze.

He hangs up and quickly dials another number. “Chase. I need you on Wilson-sitting duty…Cuddy gave you clinic duty?” House glances at her and she nods in confirmation. “Don’t care about that at the moment. Just do it, he’s asleep on the couch in Cuddy’s office. Also, if he isn’t awake and you wake him up, I will find out and Cuddy making you do clinic duty will be the least of your problems.”

He hangs up and turns back to Cuddy, his expression expectant. “Want to go on a field trip?”

“I’d say no, but that wouldn’t stop you,” she answers in resignation.

“Nope. You might get a good show, though.” House is back into his clothes. “And on the way, you can tell me why you had my entire team doing clinic duty.”

*****

House is still arguing with her about her interference with his team when they get to the motel. However, when she makes the argument that she was trying to protect Wilson, he shuts up and sulks as they walk into the reception area and ask for Dominika. A minute later, they’re walking down the hallway and House is knocking on the door with his cane.

“House,” Dominika says wearily, as she opens the door. “What are you doing here? Did Doctor Wilson tell you where I was? He told me not to contact you, so I didn’t.”

House looks at her and waves a hand. “Can we come in?”

Dominika looks between them, and nods slowly. She backs away from the door to let them in. House looks around, briefly, not surprised that Wilson chose a nice place to stash her. “Wilson didn’t give you away. I found out where you were on my own. I need to ask you something.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, Dominika nods again.

House wraps his fingers tightly around his cane and says, “Two nights ago…I got into a car accident with…with Wilson…what I need to know is…did I call you that night?”

Obviously confused, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry you were in an accident, but no, you did not call me.”

House looks at her impatiently. “Are you sure? I probably wasn’t all that coherent.”

Cuddy gets the distinct feeling that Dominica would like nothing more then to just say yes, and when she sees how frantic House looks, she sets a hand on his arm. “House.”

He exhales in frustration and, without another word, he walks out.

Cuddy finds herself standing alone with House’s foreign wife and doesn’t know what to say. She looks at this scared, confused woman and attempts a smile. “I’m sorry we bothered you.”

Dominika just looks at her wearily before nodding. “I hope he finds what he’s looking for.”

Cuddy smiles tightly again and as she goes out the way she came, she thinks that this is just going to be one of those times when House isn’t going to get his answers.

Her heels click on the sidewalk, and she can vaguely see her breath forming in the air as she walks back toward her car. It’s still cool outside, and House had been in such a hurry that neither of them had grabbed heavier jackets. As she gets closer to her car, she notices House already in the passenger seat. She sighs as she makes her way to the driver’s side and gets in.

She doesn’t start the car right away; instead she turns to him and says slowly. “I can take a guess as to where you were going and who you were trying to get to. Could’ve been Wilson. You did call him and not anyone else…maybe you just…”

“…were so drunk that I couldn’t tell who I was talking to?” House snaps. When her gaze doesn’t waver from his, he lowers his own, stares out at the night beyond the windshield and admits, “I was thinking about that, too.”

Cuddy shakes her head and leans against the back of the seat, suddenly realizing how tired she is. But as she looks at House, sees the expression on his face, it suddenly dawns on her what the sense of urgency in all this was.

“You want to remember everything, don’t you? I think, when you remembered what Wilson said about you thinking that you had somewhere you needed to go, that you were relying on your memory coming back. That’s why you wanted that MRI right away.”

“It’s a mystery and I don’t know.”

“Wilson told you what happened,” she says quietly.

“It’s not enough,” House responds.

“I think it’s going to have to be. This is human , House. You’re human. This isn’t something you can force, or bully or…anything else you do to get what you want from your patients. It’s very likely that you won’t ever remember everything and I know you realize that. I think, that in your…” she chuckles a little. “…Housian way, you’re trying to help him...by taking some of the burden off of him, so he's not the only one who actively remembers what happened.”

“You think that’s funny?”

“No,” she answers. “I don’t. I think…that there is a lot that the three of us have been ignoring for a very long time.”

“What does that mean?”

“An observation. Years of them, actually. In that respect, I can’t speak for Wilson. On my side, however…I owe you an apology.”

“What are you sorry for?” House asks. “I’m the one that screwed up.”

“This apology isn’t about all of this…it’s about the night I ended our relationship.”

House’s hands fidget on his cane. “I know I screwed up then, too.”

“We are both at fault, for everything that happened in our relationship. We were never going to work.”

“You said that.”

“I know I did and that night, I know I implied you didn’t deserve me.” She holds up a hand when House opens his mouth. “I did and I’m sorry. I just…was waiting for you to be someone you’re not.”

“I tried.”

“I know that, too. But, I fell in love with the man that threw away that Vicodin for me. That was just a small glimpse of you, House. One that I’d convinced myself was going to stay forever…and the Vicodin was just a small part of that. It was more of a catalyst. Wilson…” She shakes her head, remembering that confrontation in her office. “Wilson told me that I’d made it clear to you that I didn’t want you to change. I told him I was wrong…and I was. You’re you. You’re always going to be you…asking you to change to fit that idealized version of you that tossed those pills to the floor and kissed me was wrong.”

“I guess I thought that you could…help me become that man,” House says quietly. “But I’ll always be the drug addicted ass who continues to alienate every person he’s ever known.”

Cuddy tilts her head to the side. “I’m still here…and maybe we can work our way back to friendship, eventually. This is a start…but, there is a man asleep on the couch in my office back at the hospital whom you’ve never managed to push away. He risked everything to keep you out of trouble again.”

“Why the hell did he just not give up on me,” House demands.

Cuddy exhales in exasperation. “House, think about it. He knows who you are…knows exactly what kind of things you can get up to, in fact he’s encouraged most of it over the years. He’s always been there, for…how long?”

“Almost twenty years,” House says slowly.

“Yeah. Almost twenty years.”

“He’s left before.”

“He came back.”

“He’s tried to change me before.”

“He’s tried to get you off Vicodin,” Cuddy reminds him.

“That’s part of who I am.”

“House, the Vicodin only makes you who you are if you let it. Without it, you’re still an ass.”

House glances at her a little mischievously. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Cuddy smiles and House smirks back, but it fades quickly. “I was a bad doctor without it.”

“You were never a bad doctor,” Cuddy says vehemently. “And you were wrong when you came to my house after that patient died. Happiness doesn’t make you a bad doctor, either. My attempts to change you coupled with you fighting that and trying to find a balance between being you, and being you while you’re with me, probably didn’t help with that.”

“Wilson…”

“Accepts you.”

“He-”

“-also isn’t perfect. He’s had his moments.”

House stares off into the distance. “He told me…after you left the office, that he wanted me to accept that he’ll always be there for me.”

“I know you’ve never been that great at doing what either of us tells you, to, House, but maybe you could give that a try. For both of your sakes.”

She bumps her head gently against the back of the seat, before facing forward and starting the car. As she’s pulling out of the motel parking lot, House quietly says her name.

She turns her head toward him as she approaches a red light. “Hmm?”

“I missed you,” he admits. “What we were before…when we didn’t have to try so hard.”

She smiles and reaches over to squeeze his hand as the light turns green. Having House in her life would never, ever make it normal…but maybe now that their disastrous foray into a romantic relationship is over, she can finally accept that.

“Me too.”


	11. Chapter 11

Cuddy drives back to the hospital, and House doesn’t talk the whole way. When they reach the parking garage and Cuddy parks her car, she turns to House again, sees that his facial expression hasn’t changed much, though his eyes are moving as he thinks and he fiddles with his cane.

“You okay?”

House nods. “Yeah. Just…trying to…” but he drifts off as though his thoughts have gotten in the way of finishing what he's saying.

But she doesn’t need him to finish that sentence, because she knows that he’s trying to come to terms with everything…and he’s probably already plotting his next ten moves.

“Come on,” Cuddy says. “Let’s go wake Wilson up and dismiss your team. I’m sure everyone could use a break.”

House nods again, but Cuddy isn’t sure he actually heard her. He gets out and follows her back to her office, nodding as she gives him instructions for tomorrow. She keeps one eye on the two them as House gently wakes Wilson up, and when House is following a sleepy Wilson out of her office, she can't help but smile as she watches them walk down the hallway, in the familiar way she's seen over the years: shoulders touching, and arms bumping as they talk quietly.

She shakes her head and resumes her conversation with Chase.

******

“You okay to drive? I brought the car today if you want to just leave yours here.”

“I’m fine, House,” Wilson says gently. “Just tired. I can drive home.”

“Okay, I’ll follow you.”

“All right,” Wilson says and smiles at him before walking to his car.

House doesn't remember how long the trip back to Wilson’s loft takes, because before he knows it, they’re there and Wilson is unlocking the door. House trudges in behind him, and closes it as Wilson sets his briefcase and keys down on the kitchen island and takes off his jacket as he yawns gently.

“Tired?” he asks.

Wilson nods and yawns again, wiping a hand over his face. House enjoys this side of him, because even though Wilson looks tired and seems like he could probably sleep for days, there’s less tension in his body. House moves forward and wants to pat his shoulder, but doesn’t. Instead, he just gestures towards Wilson’s bedroom and Wilson moves toward it without a word.

Getting Wilson into bed is an interesting experience, since it seems as though he’d just become coherent enough to get himself home, before all energy had drained out of him upon crossing the threshold of the loft, not to mention House has to be careful with Wilson's healing shoulder. Once House is sure that Wilson’s comfortable and asleep, he trudges out to the living room and sinks down into the couch.

He can’t really even conceive the idea of sleep right now, not when his mind is rolling through the events of the past week; everything Wilson has told him, and what remnants he can remember.

A tiny part of him can’t help but wonder if Wilson still hasn’t told him everything, but he dismisses that almost immediately; what lie could be worse then the one Wilson told the police to protect him? Wilson would have no reason to keep anything else from him. Another option could be that he was so drunk out of his mind that he just wanted to go out on a joy ride in the car and Wilson was collateral damage in the process…pain shoots through his thigh at that thought and House grimaces painfully as he rubs it.

House thinks that he should probably be disgusted with himself (but isn't) that he’d prefer it if it was Cuddy’s opinion…that House wanted to get to Wilson, had gotten him and just hadn’t realized it.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls of the little orange bottle and shakes it gently, looking at the familiar white pills.

On a slow exhale, he twirls the bottle around his fingers, listens to the sounds of the Vicodin rattling against the plastic, and contemplates the idea that he can just let himself trust in Wilson’s feelings, and his own, whatever they may be. Wilson’s answer when House had pressed him about not needing an apology floats across his mind:

“I can’t explain it…not in any way…can’t I just say that you’re my best friend, and leave it at that?”

He’d let Wilson leave it there then, but can’t help but ruminate on it, now. How had Wilson intended to finish that sentence? Not in any way…what?

House has his suspicions and asks himself if he wants there to be more…he doesn’t have to wonder for very long though, because the feeling he’d had when he was sitting on that couch with Wilson, their fingers wrapped together, seeps through him like a slow moving mist, and it settles in his chest.

Slowly, deliberately, he looks at the Vicodin bottle…and slips it carefully back into his pocket.

Because this is Wilson , and the feeling in his chest feels nothing like it did when he’d thought he’d needed the Vicodin to be there for Cuddy. 

Then he remembers one more thing about Wilson’s story that hadn’t registered at the time, but he remembers now and realizes just how he might go about getting all of their feelings out in the open.

*****

He has no idea when he managed to drift off to sleep, but before he knows it, there is sunlight in his eyes and the smell of coffee under his nose.

He opens his eyes blearily to see Wilson sitting in front of him on the coffee table, still in the t-shirt and sweats House had forced him into last night, a mug of coffee in his left hand and an amused glint in his eye.

“…time is it?”

“Nine,” Wilson answers, setting his coffee cup down. “You forgot to set my alarm…and go to your room, apparently.”

“Getting you into clothes you can sleep in traumatized me…and Cuddy said not to come in until ten.”

Wilson snorts and this is the most relaxed House has seen him in quite a while. “I’ll be sure to check with her on that. I’m gonna grab a shower and go in. You want a ride?”

“Nah, I’m going to go back to sleep for a couple of hours.”

“Because when Cuddy said ten, she just meant for me?”

“Nope. Pretty sure she meant me, too.”

Wilson snickers and shakes his head, then grabs his coffee cup again and stands up. “I put breakfast in the fridge for you when you want it.”

House perks up, realizing a faint familiar smell is permeating the loft. “Pancakes?”

“Of course,” Wilson smiles and squeezes his shoulder as he passes, heading to the bathroom.

House leans up a little as Wilson walks away and before he knows it, he’s saying, “Wilson?”

Wilson turns toward him, and House finds that he isn’t really sure what he planned to say. What he really wants is clarification on his thoughts the night before, to start that conversation he wants to have, but now just doesn’t feel like the time, so, instead, all he says is, “Have….have a good day.”

Wilson gives him an odd look, and then a smile spreads slowly across his face. “Get some sleep, House. See you in a couple of hours.”

House nods and lays back down, drifting back to sleep as the shower starts.

*****

An entire stack of pancakes and three cups of coffee later, and House is slamming the door to the diagnostic conference room open at 11:30 that morning, taking all kinds of satisfaction when every member of his team jumps as though he’s fired a gun. He grins cheerfully.

“Doing anything productive?”

“Talking about the patient we just got a few minutes ago,” Foreman answers, holding up a folder.

Chase looks at his watch. “You’re here before noon.”

“You know me. Love sick people,” House retorts, slamming his back pack on the table. He looks at them. “Well, am I supposed to guess? Because I can do that. Let’s see. Fifty-six-year-old male with urine coming out of the wrong-“

“Twenty-seven-year-old female,” Foreman says loudly, with a glare. He rattles off the symptoms and House starts to think that things are beginning to get back to normal.

Twenty minutes later, House has sent his team off to run tests on their new patient, and he’s settling himself at his desk, trying to decide if he wants to call, text or email Wilson to demand lunch, when he sees a folder sitting on top of all the other paperwork. He picks it up; it doesn’t look familiar, but it’s addressed to him and when he sees the return address, he’s sure that he’s seen the name before.

Then it hits him.

He gets up, grabs his cane and limps over to Wilson’s office. His assistant is nowhere in sight, and he barges in as usual without knocking.

“Wilson, I-”

But he has to stop suddenly, because Wilson’s not alone. There’s a blonde guy in a police uniform standing in front of Wilson’s desk and they both turn toward him. Wilson looks slightly ill-at-ease and the officer just looks surprised and House is certain that he knows who this is.

“Doctor,” Wilson says slowly. “If you need a consult, I can certainly meet you when I’m done here.”

Before he can even think about a suitable response for that, the police officer is turning toward him.

“Officer Christopher Hanlon,” he says, hand outstretched, blue eyes on a round face watching House curiously. House looks at Wilson, who is palming the back of his neck. House takes Hanlon’s hand and shakes it once before dropping it.

“You sound like the Gregory House I spoke to on the phone yesterday,” Hanlon says.

“And your brilliant powers of deduction are leading you to believe we’re the same person?”

“Are you?”

House glances at Wilson again, briefly, before turning back to Hanlon. “Yeah, I’m House.”

“Well, good,” Hanlon says, turning to face them both. “You should hear this, too. Why don’t we all sit down?”

House watches as Hanlon sits down in one of the chairs in front of Wilson’s desk. House catches Wilson’s eye and sees that he looks resigned and tired again, but he’s already slipped into ‘Doctor James E. Wilson’ mode. Any and all of the lightheartedness of this morning is gone.

House sits in the other chair and once he and Hanlon are settled, Wilson sinks into his desk chair, an expression of polite interest on his face. House doesn’t miss the dark bags and lines of fatigue on Wilson’s face and wonders if Hanlon sees them, too.

“Like I was saying a moment ago,” Hanlon continues, crossing his legs and looking at Wilson. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of, Doctor Wilson.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Wilson says. “Between the accident and trying to keep up with my caseload, I’ve been busy.”

“I understand. I just have something to follow-up with you on.”

“Sure,” Wilson answers. “What can I do for you?”

Hanlon reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small notebook, flipping through it casually, before turning his gaze back to Wilson. “The other driver, a Miss Hayley Adams, she’s sixteen years old, was quite upset that night. She didn’t remember much about the crash immediately after the fact, but I interviewed her again yesterday and she thinks she remembers something interesting.”

It’s times like this that House realizes just how good Wilson really is at keeping his real feelings hidden. This isn’t the first time that’s occurred to him, but as he looks at Wilson’s face, where the only change in his expression is a barely-there tightening of the muscles below his right eye, he can’t help an inward smile. House is sure that he’s the only one who saw that little tic, and that was only because he’d been looking for it.

“Did she?”

With a nod, Hanlon looks back down at the notebook. “You stated that you pulled Doctor House out of the car after the wreck, correct?”

“Yes,” Wilson answers, with the air of someone who has answered the question before.

“From the passenger side.”

“Yes.”

“Miss Adams informed me that she saw that you had pulled Doctor House out of the car, but that when she saw you at the front of the car, your back was to her.”

“And that’s conclusive of…what, exactly?” Wilson asks politely. House mentally says ‘Atta boy’ at his mask of indifference.

“Well,” Hanlon says slowly. “If you had pulled Doctor House out of the passenger seat, logically, you would have been facing her when you got to the front of the car.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“No. I’m just curious as to what your answer to that might be.”

Wilson opens his mouth, but before he can get another word out, House finds that he can’t keep his own mouth shut any longer.

“Doesn’t really matter what Wilson’s answer to that is,” House says brightly.

“House,” Wilson says, but Hanlon hold up a hand and Wilson closes his mouth.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said it doesn’t matter. I told you on the phone yesterday that my memory is recovering and it is. I remembered seeing Wilson behind the wheel of that car,” House answers, holding his gaze on Hanlon’s, not wavering, a smug smile on his face, his hands folded on top of his cane.

Hanlon blinks. “You’re absolutely sure about that, Doctor House?”

“Yep,” House answers. “In the memory, I saw him grip the steering wheel, his elbows and shoulders locked, trying to get control of the car. I’d bet good money that that’s how his shoulder dislocated.”

Hanlon tightens his jaw and looks down at the notebook again, before looking back at Wilson. “Doctor Wilson, do you have anything to add to that?”

“No,” Wilson says.

“Okay then. You have my card if you find that you need to get a hold of me?”

Wilson nods.

“Okay,” Hanlon nods, shortly. “Thank you both for your time, I will see myself out.”

No one says another word as Hanlon opens the door and leaves swiftly, the sound of his footsteps echoing slightly down the hallway.

House gets up and closes the door, before going back to his previous post in his chair in front of Wilson’s desk.

“Wilson-”

But Wilson shakes his head and rubs his eyes. House thinks he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Wilson, you’re going to have another panic attack if you don’t breathe.”

Wilson nods and exhales quickly and begins breathing in a rhythm. House mentally counts the breaths and when Wilson goes off course, he begins to count out loud, like Cuddy had started the night before.

The only sound in the next few minutes is the sound of House counting out Wilson’s steady breaths, but House is sure that he can hear the gears turning in Wilson’s head as he thinks.


	12. Chapter 12

He should have seen this coming, but hadn’t. It was stupid and naïve to think that Hanlon would just let it go; rule that the accident was the fault of the other driver, and that would be it.

Right, stupid. He shakes his head again as House continues to verbally count his breathing pattern out, and it helps, for awhile, to listen to House’s voice.

But, suddenly, his office just seems too small. Wilson plants the palm of his left hand on his desk and stands up suddenly. “I need some air,” he says breathlessly, before rushing out through the balcony door.

*****  
House watches him go; observes Wilson as he leans on the ledge of the balcony and hangs his head down, trying to get himself back under control. He vaguely wonders if Wilson is still on anti-depressants, and whether he should think about seeing if he can get Wilson on anti-anxiety medication, as he stands slowly and makes his way out, his gaze not leaving the back of Wilson’s head.

He limps over and stands beside him, facing the other way, cane between his legs, his own palms against the balcony ledge.

“Breathe. It’s going to be fine.”

Wilson exhales. “You don’t know that.”

“Did we switch bodies this morning? You’re usually the one trying to be fake-optimistic.”

He’d hoped to get some kind of sign of amusement, but Wilson just breathes and closes his eyes tightly. House gets the feeling that he’s trying to hide, and he decides that he isn’t going to let Wilson shutdown like this.

He leans a little closer, just so his right side is not even a hairs-breadth from Wilson’s right side, not quite touching it in deference to his injured shoulder. He turns his head so he can talk to the side of Wilson’s face.

“If he had any real suspicions, ones that he could do something about, he wouldn’t have come to talk to you in your office and left without anything. Relax. It will be fine.”

Wilson doesn’t say anything to that, but seems to start breathing a little easier. House remembers what he came here for originally, and casually says,

“So, I had news for you when I came over here.”

Wilson turns his head and looks at him in askance, so House continues, “I have an envelope on top of my desk…the return address has a name on it that sounds a lot like the divorce lawyer you used with all three of your former wives.”

Wilson’s body freezes again and House mentally curses himself.

“I’m not accusing you…or mad…” House says gently. “In fact, you’re helping me.” The 'again' goes unsaid.

“You’re getting divorced.”

“I should never have married her.”

Wilson snorts in derision and looks away from him.

“And actually-” House says, “-it was never consummated. So, it’ll be no problem to have it annulled.”

Wilson snaps his gaze back to House’s, surprise etched on his face. “You never-”

“No.”

“Not that I’m…complaining or anything,” Wilson says, as though he’s trying to wrap his mind around a particularly difficult concept. “But why?”

House shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest. “She tried, the night of the wedding. But, I just…couldn’t. I don’t know, maybe I’m finally growing up and realizing that I don’t want to sleep with random strangers anymore. Even ones I marry off the street.”

Wilson chuckles a little at that. “What about before…”

“You got her away from my drunken ass?” House finishes. “I guess it’s possible.”

“But not likely,” Wilson says, but it’s not a question.

House shrugs. “I’m going to go get the paperwork. I didn’t actually look at it before I came out here.”

Wilson nods and watches the people below move them around as House carefully hops the balcony and goes into his office. A moment later, he’s back again, rifling through a mass of paperwork.

“Annulment papers,” he says briskly. “And she’s citing ‘Refusal to consummate marriage’ as her reason for it. ”

Wilson takes a deep breath. “That’s good. That's better than opening up a can of worms by saying it was fraudulent.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that…I mean, you were married to her…”

“I know,” House cuts in. “Considering everything that you’ve told me happened, I get it. No worries, Wilson.”

“Tha-”

“If you thank me,” House interrupts. “I will hit you with my cane.”

Wilson snorts, but soldiers on anyway. “I just want to thank you for trusting me.”

House nods shortly and admits, “I wish you had told me earlier.”

“I know. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, House. It’s just that I…”

“You didn’t trust me,” House says softly. “And it’s okay. I understand why, considering past experience.”

“I was scared,” Wilson admits. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.”

Silence overcomes them again, but it’s not completely uncomfortable. After the admissions they’ve just made to each other, House finds he has another one of his own when he realizes that he’s never told Wilson his actual reasons for marrying Dominika in the first place.

“You were wrong.”

“About…”

“About why I married her. You said that you told me that I married Dominika to get back at Cuddy and I didn’t do it to get back at her, at least…not entirely. I did it because…I was afraid of being alone. Cuddy left and I needed someone who would be there.”

“I’ve always been here, House. Even when I wasn’t here, I was with you.”

“I know. I know that, it was stupid and irrational. I was pissed off, drugged out and drunk out of my mind and I…”

“And you’re not really known for being wholly rational at the best of times.”

“Pretty much,” House says slowly, amazed that this is yet another thing Wilson isn’t going to want an apology for and God, he thinks, I’ve been a damned idiot.

House finds that the tightness in his chest is back, and he feels like he did last night when he’d made that admission to himself about his feelings and now, he’s not sure he wants to wait anymore for Wilson to clarify his own.

"Wilson, I have a question for you.”

Wilson turns his head fully towards him, his eyes on House’s face. “Okay…”

“When you said-“

But that’s all he gets out, because suddenly a familiar beeping noise is sounding like an alarm. House reaches down and plucks his phone from his pocket.

“Damn,” he snaps, reading the text message. “My patient would choose now to start dying.”

“You can ask me later,” Wilson says, looking a bit unsure.

“I will,” House responds, picking up his cane, not really wanting to leave. “It’s not bad, I promise.”

“I’m not really sure how reassuring that is,” Wilson answers, but his smile is more amused and less weary and House can’t help a smile.

“You gonna go?” Wilson asks, angling his head at the phone in House’s hand.

And like that was a cue, it beeps again.

House glares at it and Wilson chuckles. “I’ll harass you when I can,” House says, as he turns to leave through Wilson’s office.

As the door closes behind him, he smiles again when he hears Wilson holler dryly “I’ll look forward to it” through the office.

*****

Wilson sees House periodically through the day; he even heard the words ‘incompetent’ and ‘idiot’ yelled through the diagnostic room door an hour or so earlier as he passed by on the way from an appointment. He’d looked through the windows to see House standing before his team, cane in the air, apparently illustrating something as he bellowed at them. Wilson had stood there and watched before House’s head turned suddenly and they made eye contact. Caught out, Wilson raised his hand and waved, slightly gratified when the corners of House’s mouth turned up slightly, before he returned to strongly chastising his fellows.

Now, he’s catching up on paper work, or trying to anyway. He can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened, and everything that’s still going on. The fact that Hanlon has suspicions is still causing some worry, but Wilson knows that House likely has a point about his presentation of them. He figures his innate paranoia regarding anything surrounding House is kicking in.

The fact that House knows, now, and is helping him…he can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had gone ahead and confided in House and Cuddy from the beginning. Would he still have felt overwhelmed and on the edge of falling apart?

He knows, though, how much better he feels now that House and Cuddy do know. He’s spent so much time taking care of House and watching after House, that he’d just fallen into that role, this time, at his own expense. He’d told House that he wanted him to realize that he, Wilson, would always be there for him, but Wilson’s beginning to think that maybe House is also trying to let him know that Wilson can rely on him, too.

He thinks back to what Cuddy had said in her office, about how when she needed him, really needed him, House couldn’t be there for her, couldn’t step up to the plate. Maybe that comment was still subconsciously on his mind, and he’d felt that House wouldn’t have been able to really help this time.

But that had been stupid, because he can think of several instances where House has stepped up--for Wilson. He lied to Hanlon about Wilson’s story--twice. He’d told Wilson he couldn’t be there for the liver transplant to Tucker, but had shown up just in the nick of time, exactly like Wilson had hoped he would.

He’s beginning to think he’d let House’s bad behavior since the end of his relationship with Cuddy completely cloud any of the good things that have happened in the course of their twenty year friendship. He’d lost sight of the little things that House does for him, things that he hasn’t thought about in a while that he’d been afraid to trust him with something big, like the real events of what happened in the accident…or the reasons Wilson had protected him then, and has always tried to protect him.

He’d fallen into his natural role of caretaker and had forgotten about everything else.

He remembers their conversation on the balcony, and the one after he’d told them everything, how House had reassured him and told him everything would be okay…even though (despite what House would say) he’s not omniscient and can’t possibly know that for sure, but he’d done it because he’d known that Wilson had needed it. He’d also admitted that he wished Wilson had told him earlier…but understood why he hadn’t. There were no accusations or insults. It was House, being honest and trusting him.

“You okay?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Wilson’s head pops up, and he sees the object of his thoughts standing in the open doorway.

“Yeah,” he answers as House moves in fully and closes the door. He looks at his watch and can’t believe that it’s almost five in the evening already. “I’m fine, why?” 

House waves a hand at him. “You had a weird look on your face. Do we need to do a differential?”

“You must be having a slow patient day if that’s your criteria for taking someone on. Don’t you have a patient?”

“She’s not as interesting as you are.”

Wilson smiles again as House seats himself in his customary spot in front of his desk. “I’m glad I can entertain you after all these years.”

House looks at him steadily. “You do a lot more than that.”

And just like that, the mood shifts, and Wilson’s not quite sure what to do about it. He has a feeling they’re about the get back to that question that House began on the balcony. He folds up his paper work and sets it to the side, before meeting House’s gaze and giving him his complete and full attention.

“You had something to ask me.”

House nods. “You…implied that there was more to the reasons that you don’t need any apology from me.”

“House, I-”

House leans forward and rests his chin on his cane and Wilson finds that his pulse is fluttering at being on the other end of that unwavering gaze.

He takes a deep breath. “Before we start this…are you going to be paged any time soon?”

“I told my team that they could only page me if she actually died. Since she’s stable at the moment, we’re good. This answer is more important, Wilson.”

“I’m surprised it took you this long, actually.”

“Had to stabilize her before we could have this conversation,” House answers. “I did and couldn’t wait any more. Stop stalling and answer the question.”

Wilson looks at him, sees House’s face, the face of the man he has repeatedly risked everything for. He hasn’t even allowed himself to admit in his own mind exactly why he does what he does for House, not the word, because what was the point of thinking something that would get him nowhere?

He’d always been afraid to take that risk, because compared to everything else, this seems like it’s the biggest leap.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “There’s more.”

House nods, processing that. “You called Nolan.”

Wilson blinks at the sudden non-sequitur. “Yes, but nothing came of it. We didn’t really talk about you even. Like I said last night, he couldn’t and I…didn’t know what else to do.”

With another nod, House says, “I ask because…I may need him and having your help might get me back in. I should probably tell you how that ended the last time. I sort of stormed out last year and haven’t been back to see him since.”

Wilson is completely dumbfounded. “O-okay, but…I’m sorry, House, I don’t understand the connection between that and my...feelings for you.”

“You said that you wanted me to realize that you would always be here and I’m starting to,” House explains gently. “But I was thinking about what you said, about there being more to what you did for me, hell, to what you’ve always done for me,” House’s eyes are meeting Wilson’s again, as if asking for confirmation and Wilson just smiles slightly. House smiles back and continues, “…and I realized that I want…I want to be able to be there for you. I want you to feel like you can trust me to help you, too.”

“House, I don’t need you to be off Vicodin for that. If you feel that you need it, then I’ll support you. I’m not going to fight you on it anymore.”

House smiles again at that and the look on his face tells Wilson that he’d expected that answer. Wilson feels his pulse flutter again and it’s also then that he notices that House’s hands are shaking slightly.

“Exactly,” House answers, as if Wilson is a star pupil who just answered a difficult question. And maybe, Wilson thinks, he has just done exactly that.

He blinks again and gets up, because being behind his desk is making him feel boxed in. He seats himself on the couch and looks at House, who is watching him carefully. He then stands up, too, and limps slowly over to stand next to Wilson’s knee before sitting slowly next to him, on the edge of the couch, his cane settled against the couch beside him, his slightly shaking hands folded between his knees. Wilson wonders if they’re shaking because he’s nervous, or because of the beginning of Vicodin withdrawal….or maybe it’s both.

“Wilson,” House says slowly. “There’s more for me, too.”

Wilson exhales a shaky breath. He might pinch himself, just to make sure, but doesn’t have to when House kicks him on the ankle gently.

“The ‘House-and-I-are-friends-and-just-basically-professed-our-love-for-each other-after twenty-years-of-crazy-friendship-‘ look is kind of hot on you.”

Wilson chuckles and looks at House, a little startled to see that he’s very close now. Wilson can feel his breath on his face and exhales slowly. House’s leans farther forward, so Wilson can just feel House’s forehead meet his.

“This isn’t really…I didn’t expect this, at all.”

“I can’t say that I did either,” House says gently. “And while I might never remember the details of that night, something tells me I called you for a reason. I'm just going to decide that maybe this was it. Feels pretty good. Don't you think?"

Wilson nods slowly because yes, it feels incredible. He jostles House in the process and they both smile.

“I wonder if this is what Cuddy meant?” House wonders. Wilson lifts his gaze, but doesn’t take his forehead away from House’s, because he still can’t get over feeling it against his own.

“What?”

House moves forward fractionally and whispers “never mind” before he gently kisses Wilson’s bottom lip, then looks at Wilson’s eyes to gauge his reaction. Wilson gives him an answer when he moves his left hand up, grabs House’s cheek, and crashes their mouths together.

“Mmm,” House moans and suddenly, he’s grabbing Wilson’s face and kissing him like he might never get the chance to again.

Wilson tries his best to put this doubt to rest.

When they finally break apart, it’s just enough so their foreheads are still touching as they try to catch their breath.

“You ready to accept it that I’ll always be around?” Wilson asks breathlessly.

House kisses him again. “Are you prepared to think the same of me?”

“Yes,” Wilson breathes. “Yes. Always, House.”

House smiles and moves in to capture Wilson’s mouth again.

******

House isn’t sure how long he and Wilson are on the couch, making out like teenagers, but when they make themselves more comfortable so as not to aggravate Wilson’s shoulder and House’s thigh, House gets the feeling they’re going to be there for awhile.

He can’t find any reason in him to care about that.

However, he can’t help but think, very briefly, that Cuddy was right earlier.

There is a lot he and Wilson have ignored for a very long time.


End file.
